Welcome rain descended all day in an ever-increasing crescendo.
Undeterred, my Chauffeuse drove us into the forest as rain battered the Modus and spattered the windscreen, across which the panic stricken wipers raced to and fro.
In the dingy early afternoon of this cold summer’s day motorists splashed through puddle-wet streets reflecting headlight beams. The occasional dog walker suffered for his pet.
On one side of a narrow lane off Burley Road invasive balsam did its best to choke a replenishing stream; native teasels stood proud on the other;
around the corner a quizzical sheltering cow clearly wondered what we were doing there.
In the grounds of the Alice Lisle pub at Rockford Green a fine chestnut pony carrying out its lawn mowing contract seemed to be availing itself of a Driza-Bone equestrian coat to keep off the rain.
Last week Ditchend Brook, crossing the Blissford Road ford at Frogham, was virtually dry. Today, raindrops bouncing off its rising surface, the stream was on the move again. This was the only point at which I emerged from the car on this trip; when the raindrops had finished ricocheting off me I probably smelt like a wet dog.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s scrumptious shepherd’s pie crunchy carrots, and tender green beans and cabbage with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Marlborough Pinot Noir 2019.