Chores interrupt Pippa and Dom's visit. So instead of going to the pub we decide to sample the produce of the Down Town Fish Bar opposite the Compasses. It deserves its good reputation. Generous pieces of cod firm to the touch in crisp batter and chips which stay hot and crisp. Because we feel that fish and chips is picnic food, we decide to sit round the dining room table and eat it straight off the grease-proof paper. No washing up! Disgraceful.
All night the rains beats against the windows. I picture the weather map now almost a permanent feature of BBC forecasts. Circles of arrows dancing across the Atlantic like whirling dervishes on their way to swallow our frail island and its inhabitants.