The Tunbridge Wells Farmers' Market has a new look to day. It has has moved, with the help of a traffic diversion, from the narrow strip of road alongside the town hall and public library, to the parallel stretch of Mount Pleasant between the corner of Crescent Road and Monson Road. Now it look like a real market with a broad walking space in the middle of the traffic-less road between stands and much larger stands. The nursery stands selling garden plants give the impression of flower gardens. A dazzling improvement. Matthew Sankey restaurateur and fishmonger is meanwhile cooking a vast paella on his stand.
All day we have been expecting rain. The forecast promises heavy rain by midday. But it doesn't materialise. In our neighbour's garden we sit in the still warm heavy air under a sort of bower. After a prolonged glass of Bollinger, bits of pork pie and quail eggs, to celebrate the neighbour's birthday, I retire to bed. War and Peace is an excuse. I read the chapter where Prince Andrew Bolkonski's, apparently dead body is noticed by Napoleon beside his regemental standard on the battlefield. On discovering him to be alive, the French Emperor orders him to be taken to the dressing station. When I awake it has rained heavily for a few minutes unnoticed by me.