Andrew Hoyle: ‘Our son was soon plundering the pond with the ferocious intensity of a Faroese trawlerman’

MAY have hit paydirt in my ceaseless quest for maximum entertainment of our three children, coupled with minimum financial outlay by me: it’s called tadpoles.

A recent Sunday found us at Lauriston Castle’s Japanese water garden – the scene, devoted Daddy Cool readers may recall, of a near-drowning two summers ago, when our heedless seven-year-old son went head-over-heels into its slimy depths. Once bitten, twice shy, so this time I recruited the services of Granny Cool, not so much for her lifeguarding skills as for her formidable frown, which by itself is usually enough to keep the most unruly of children away from the edges of any stretch of open water.

Tooled up with a few freezer bags and a fishing net on a stick, our oldest son, aged nine, was soon plundering the pond with the ferocious intensity of a Faroese trawlerman who has just unilaterally decided to quadruple his quota of Scottish mackerel.

A few minutes later, enthusiastically assisted by his brother and five-year-old sister, he was hauling in infant amphibians hand over fist, and a small crowd of curious children gathered to watch the spectacle – indeed, one little scamp was observing us so intently, instead of watching where he was walking, that history repeated itself and he fell into the pond. My, how we chortled.

The harvesting of nature’s rich bounty wasn’t over yet, however. Lurking in the shallows shimmered a few colourful fish – priceless koi carp that had been stocked that very morning perhaps, or possibly mutant minnows. I guess we’ll never know. A quick flick of the net and into the bag they went, then we headed home to inspect our catch more closely. After a couple of hours of observing, prodding and poking, and as the fish grew listless and adopted a curiously lateral swimming style, we concluded that perhaps a 250ml polythene bag wasn’t the most accurate recreation of their natural environment. We reluctantly got in the car, drove back to the castle and released them back into their old habitat. Free Willy, eat your heart out.

And if anyone has noticed a decline in number of froglets in north Edinburgh, worry not – they’re going back to the pond as soon as they stop hopping round the kitchen for long enough to catch them.