Why I joined the Jehovah’s Witnesses

The toad who lives at the bottom of the garden in the pile of bricks beneath the potting table was very happy with his new plunge pool. I made it on a particularly slow afternoon when I had run out of ideas for things to do. It was either make a toad Jacuzzi or darn socks, so naturally Mr Toad lucked out. Before that, I tidied the cellar, going through all the laundry bags full of horse tackle. I sorted and bagged rugs, cleaned and polished bridles, reorganised my ever-burgeoning collection of multicoloured lead ropes, overreach boots and numnahs, and even sorted out all the saddle soaps and boot polishes.

From the back windows of the houses around me drifted the urgent sounds of people working from home, barking instructions such as, ‘Listen, guys, we need to nail this issue!’ into their conference-calling laptops as I fretted over whether to put my first pony’s halter into the bag with the other halters or into my memory box in the attic. Little Fella’s tiny blue headcollar was finally put with the others in case it fits Goldie, the new pony.

With all that sorted, I realised there was only the pile of socks with various toe ends missing between me and the gaping mouth of nothing happening until the builder boyfriend came back from his work on a roof, which might not be until gone 7 p.m. if he went to his smallholding to mend fencing, or later still if he lit a bonfire he could poke with a stick.

So I made a little plunge pool for Toady out of a broken terracotta pot with a dog bowl inside, two rocks and a brick to enable him to climb in and out safely.