I've always had an affinity with water, although I'm not sure I appreciated it as a callow youth. It's probably why I turned to the Royal Navy as a career choice as opposed to any of the other services when reaching my manhood. Life at sea was a pleasure for me, I loved the motion of the waves and hardly ever stopped to consider the fact my bunk was well below the ship's waterline. Even so a sailor's life can be a tad tedious at times and that's when they stop to ponder life's mysteries; I was no exception and found myself wondering the whys and wherefores on many occasions.

So, Good Friday and the allotted time for my first big pond clean-up of the year. Some tidying had already been undertaken at the back-end of February. Too damn cold then to spend more than a few minutes in the water, but now that April's well under way things have warmed considerably.

I don an old pair of swimming shorts and t-shirt and stepping up to the pond's edge, dip a tentative toe in the water. It's okay, not too cold at all in fact. I wave to the wife, who offers me a sad expression, shakes her head and turns away from the window. I step boldly into the depths, pausing momentarily on the first level before proceeding down to the second. It may be worth explaining at this point the pond has four depth levels, the deepest being at the far side from my entry point.

The work starts as I remove the pre-pump filter for cleaning and put it aside. I scoop out fallen leaves and the odd snail shell from around both filter seat and pump base. Next is the removal of some of the oxygenating weed, which will take over if simply left to its own devices.

I step down into level three with a sharp intake of breath as the water laps around my thighs. This is worst part of the job, the clearing of the fallen and rotting grunge from last year. Why don't I use a pond vacuum? Because I'd rather do the job in a more gentle, controlled way. I crouch allow the water to explore my lower torso, while reaching down and gathering my first handful of crap for removal. A head appears and a voice mutters, “You must be flipping daft. Are you going to play with mud pies long?”

Answering in the affirmative I continue, happy in my work dredging out the sludge. At this point one of the ghost koi decides to investigate my toes. I wiggle them in an effort to scare the fish away, but no, it's determined to play. Move the foot, step sideways. Another handful of sludge, another tickle around my toes. Wiggle again, same effect. Move foot. A second investigative fish joins the fun: here's where stupidity takes over. I know what's playing with my toes and I know they can't hurt me, but does that change anything? No. I flick one foot then the other shuffling forward as I do, onto the slippery edge of the depths and then over and down.

The water's 4'6'' deep here and I'm already in a crouching position. I jerk myself upwards, not wanting my head to dip below the surface. It may look clean enough, but I really don't fancy sticking my face into the pond. The shriek of laughter from behind tells me first, the wife is still present and second, not to expect any sympathy. Oh well.

Twenty minutes later my sludging is complete and I leave the pond to it's more natural denizens. The pre-pump filter is cleaned and returned. I stand shivering in the wind, but not for long. T-shirt and shorts are deposited in a wet heap on the patio as I head for the kitchen door and the pleasures of mineral salted hot bath.