This is who Stephen found sitting on the edge of the bath last night when he went to shower.

He was not impressed. The general gist of his comments - which grew both increasingly anxious and increasingly irate as he waited for reinforcements to arrive on the scene - seemed to be that this frog incursion was due to other family members having been slack about keeping the front door shut, and that these other family members needed to deal with the frog Right Now. He was in a bit of a catch-22 position, because he didn't want to get too close to the frog (did I mention that the men in this house are not that ... well, not that manly?) but he also didn't want to let it out of his sight in case (his worst nightmare) it got into his room.

Eventually, the girls and I took pity on him and came to deal with the frog. It proved quite trivial to corral it into a biscuit tin, and I was feeling terribly competent and organised as I took the frog out of the front door to release it. I opened the tin, and off it hopped into the darkness. I stepped back inside and - wait, there's something in my hair. OH MY GOD THERE'S A FROG IN MY HAIR! AAAAAAAARGH! IT'S IN MY HAIR!! IS IT OUT YET? IT'S STILL IN MY HAIR!! AAAARGH!

Frogs which have been frightened by a brief sojourn on someone's head are a whole lot more difficult to catch than frogs that have been mellowly hanging out on the edge of a bath.

When all the screaming (us) and frenzied jumping (us and the frog) was done, and the frog really was back in the garden, Bobby meandered through and asked what all the hysteria had been about. When told about the Frog Ordeal, he replied "Gosh, I thought from all the screaming that there must have been a snake inside."

Did I mention that the men in this house lack a certain je ne sais quoi?