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Paul Ford goes camping: "I'd forgotten my tent back in the city. Jake had a nifty one-person Swiss mountaineer's tent that went up in about 30 seconds, and I had an old red sleeping bag. I stretched the sleeping bag out on the ground, raising small clouds of dust in the process.
Then the frogs arrived. Dozens of them. Tiny ones, leaping directly onto my head, my lips, my shoulders. I leapt up swearing, and Jake emerged from his hermetically sealed environment to see me clawing at my skin, then he laughed and went back into his tent.
There was a picnic table nearby, so I stretched out on that to avoid the frogs, and slept an uncomfortable three hours. I woke up to murmurs, and turned to see three men with mullets staring at me.
"You don't look too comfortable," one said.
"I'm fine," I said.
"Weird," said another."
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"The mind of the thoroughly well informed [person] is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, and everything priced above its proper value."
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