Cold comfort as I find myself up to my waist in the garden pond

A few minutes later I headed for our garden pond, which now stretches some 11 metres by five. The water, part-fed by a run-off from one of the innumerable mountain streams, looked relatively clear but also very cool.

I had changed into my swimming trunks and I sat on the edge, feeling the ice cold of the water creeping up from my tentative toes. Slowly I eased myself in, gasping as the cold moved up above my trunks. The pond is over a meter deep and, in the process of undertaking work in the vicinity, I had lost a screwdriver and the dogs had knocked some rocks into it, dislodging a couple of plant boxes in the process. They needed retrieving.

The Koi carp and the other assorted fish had headed under the bridge for the pond-addition, out of my path. With each stride, the pond became a little dirtier. I felt with my feet and came across a rock. I could not reach it with my hand. There was only one way to raise it: plunge my head under water and then pick it up off the bottom, over a meter below the surface.

Of course, I became acclimatised to the cold and slowly retrieved the rocks and spade, adjusted the perimeter of the pond, which is covered with rocks and made sure all were soundly in place. We have two King Charles Spaniels who like to hop across the rocks, watching the Koi. I did not want any more dislodged.

Finally I had completed my work and climbed out of the by-now discoloured pond and looked at the water level. It was unchanged. Removing the rocks or indeed their falling into the pond had not punctured the liner.

The dogs welcomed me as I climbed out. They had witnessed the whole half-hour with great interest. I knew by the evening the pond would settle down and within 24 hours it would be clear, and easy to spot the various fish.

I could make out a few colours beneath the water but nothing was clear. Perhaps I could see them better if I put my glasses on.

My glasses! Where were they? I looked to the side of the pond. They were not to be seen. I realised then that I had been a total prat. I had unthinkingly worn the glasses into the pond and not noticed the fact when I had ducked my head under the surface.

(Incidentally, am I the only one who feels prat should be spelt pratt?) I recalled years ago, my father had thrown himself into the sea on a family holiday without taking off his glasses. I thought him particularly stupid at the time, with all the arrogance of youth.

I scoured the surface of the pond but I knew they would be too heavy to float. At that time Ellie arrived.

“All done,” she asked?

“I forgot to take my glasses off and forgot I was wearing them. How stupid can I get?” I replied, taking the towel she proffered and heading into the house to pick up a spare pair of glasses.

I returned and removed my trunks, changed back into shorts and went to the terrace table to retrieve my shirt. I stared at it, realising I had experienced a senior moment. Sitting on top of the shirt were my glasses. I had taken them off when I changed to go into the pond.

“I cannot believe it, the glasses were here all the time” I said. “I can’t believe what a prat I am.”

I had to smile. My wife’s voice came back to me: “Now, this is where you and I differ,” she said.

“

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here