My first contact with the little green jelly frogs must be some 9 years ago now. It was a totally unexpected encounter that took me completely by surprise.
There were about 20 of us there; parents gathered to watch our youngsters at their end of term sports do. I imagined that bean bags and skipping ropes would be the order of the day. Instead, the main feature was a large bag of small green amphibians: squishy, shiny frogs that all stuck together in a gooey mess.
And the aim was simple – to see who could spit the little green frogs the furthest.
Well, I know that camels spit when worried and snuff-taking Swedes can be a little bit ‘spitty’. But, a spitting contest for kids? I was hopping mad.
There was one youngster, there always is, who out-spat the others by a clear metre in all three spit-offs. He was a master spitter if there ever was one.
Mastering all my restraint, and quietly fuming I retreated to my parked car. And there I waited for my son – the Spitting Champion. And what could I say to that dear little chap beaming with pride and a glowing green tongue?
Because we don’t spit in Britain, do we?