Deluge

Precipitative sort of day, if there's such a word. There is in Cobspeak, the language of cobs. By the way, spot the bird below - it's not landing on Dibby's back.

If today is anything to go by, the traditional bizarre British summer seems to be reasserting itself.

Out to graze after breakfast on a dull and cooler morning. Dad came at noon hoping to bring me in to be clipped. He found the clipper blades were still in the post, so my haircut was postponed for another day.

After this reprieve Dad got on with our stables and we continued with our heads down for some serious grazing.

The heavens then really opened and our fly rugs got soggy rather quickly. Dad took some snaps of the deluge. The rainy season must mean the Ashes tests are about to start - not that cobs follow cricket particularly closely. We tend to be in the field at more or less the same time as the players.