Duck, guinea fowl ... belly draft from a Saddleback. Half-hour in town and soaked through. It was – is – lashing down. Out on the moor there are columns of heavily-laden teenagers trudging through the mire, serious runners tackling partially-flooded undulating roads. To the kayakers it’s water off a duck’s back. Made it back to the homestead to find the hunt saddling up – rather them than yours truly, tis blowing a hoolie. Am now settled beside the fire, waiting for Man Utd v Liverpool to kick off.
Turned out nice again… Rain stopped, wind dropped, mist dissipated and the sun came out – along with neighbours, bearing guns.