A fin gold line...

Hoorah! Mr G has decided to get some more pond fish. This is largely down to the fact that a mozzie bit him right between the eyebrows and then, when I took some water out of the pond to refill Flad's drinking bowl (he won't touch tap), it was full of nasty, wrigging larvae.

So I went on line and found out that the best way to get rid of them is to get some tadpoles or some fish, as they are voracious consumers of mozzie larvae. Yesterday, we were all set to visit a friend in Aylesbury whose ponds boast trillion of taddies when her son decided to take her out instead. Today, Mr G asked if I would like to go to the 'fish shop', but not the kind that are usually accompanied by chips, salt and vinegar.

I got ready, eager and keen to pick one that could be my special fish. We were just about to leave, when ding-dong-bell, if it wasn't Mr G's nephew, asking if he could update his sat-nav for him. I tapped my foot and stared antsily at my watch for three-quarters of an hour. Then at last I heard footsteps heading for the door.

"Bye!" I shouted, only to receive the reply, "I haven't gone yet." Derrrr. Did I feel a twit.

Another half hour went by and then Mr G said it was too late to go. I was really disappointed. But then... Nephew decided he'd better get back to work (it was around 3pm and that had been a very long lunch break). "Can we go now? Can we, can we?" I pleaded like a kid.

So we drove off on a half hour trip to the 'fish shop', only to find that all they stocked were large koi carp that started at £35 per fish. "I only want a goldfish," complained Mr G.

So it was back in the car and off we headed to another place in Denham, Bucks. The sign said they sold fish but, after several circuits of the watering cans, ceramic pots and Busy Lizzies, Mr G announced grumpily that if they didn't put the fish somewhere obvious so customers could find them, then he wasn't going to buy any from them and neither was he going to stomp all round the place for a second time.

And so it was that by 4.30, we were back home and the mozzies were gathering. In fact, they drove me in from the garden. I have suggested that he ask the man to whom he gave some of his spare baby fish last year, if he could have some of them back. It would be the same bloodstock. They'd have the same genes as Mr G's sadly demised pets which, he calculated, must have been worth almost £2000, God rest their gills.

So... fish or tadpoles? Which is it to be? One thing's for sure: I'm not going to sit in the garden until Something Is Done! Hey, how about a Hoover? I could wave it around the garden and nozzle them up. Yay! Job done.