A roaring southwesterly, sheets of horizontal rain. The tempest is full on to the homestead – yours truly, as I staggered, slip-slid about the yard. Chickens refuse to leave their coop, the ponies have disappeared into the trees, and part of my lean-to doesn’t lean any more. The lanes are flooded, and though driving a Land Rover I am conscious it’s not an amphibious vehicle. Watched the lads unload their kayaks down on the Dart: Rather you than me, I thought.