Yesterday's weather forecast was alarming but most of the awfulness passed us by. Here's how things looked in Winchelsea round about tea time.



We said we'd meet Odi and family off the train- which was as well because the station turned out to be a single platform way out in the fields and there's no bus stop. They'd missed their connection in Ashford- which put their arrival back by an hour- so Ailz and I retired to the New Inn for refreshments. I'm very fond of Winchelsea. It's Rye's neglected twin- very quiet where Rye is all bustle, but just as medieval and just as beautiful. Plus Spike Milligan is buried in the churchyard.

Here's a picture of the church's west front. No-one seems to know whether the semi-ruinous state of the building is down to French raiding parties or the money having run out.