Yesterday and today, they've been making hay on Shapwick Hill just across the valley from our house. It reminds me of the happy but exhausting time we used to have helping friends to do the same in the 90s - racketing rides back from the field on top of the wobbling pile of bales with screaming children and barking collies, followed by the hard, hot, prickly work of stacking in the barn, and the reward: supper and plenty of cold beer in the darkening evening. Another free but simple pleasure whose memory I shall treasure till I'm very old.

I used to think the adjective was a mark of approbation of nice weather, rather than, as I now suspect, a curse!

The puddle outside the office is almost deep enough to come over the top of my garden clogs, the rain is pouring, the mist is thick, and the lawn is strewn with minced leaves shredded from the trees. Over the fence, dejected cows are looming out of the mist, having forgotten to lie down last night before the rain started, and save themselves some dry grass to lie on.

An English summer, then!

Preparing to form a bovine pyramid

With apologies to all my chums here - I've been very busy with work and haven't had any spare time to see what you've all been up to