Despite an iffy forecast, it has been a fine day as usual for the Whittington Show. Charlotte came to lunch, and we took her up Ham Hill with us, sneaking in the back way and parking outside Kim and Ruth's. Doing this, we get to see the fête proper twice, on the way to the Court and on the way back: otherwise, it can be an effort to drag ourselves down to the village and back, what with the attractions of the Press, the church and the Court itself - where Jack was today looking particularly dapper, sitting in splendour in the bay window of his bedroom. Hugo presided in the hall, having to close the door when too many threatened to invade the house. Jenny, Lucy and Giles were on downstairs room duty.
At the Press, John cruised genially; Rose and Patrick were busy selling, and 20 or so stalls were set up under the trees, showing fine books from other presses, marbling, weaving, bees and much else: it's a unique gathering surely; and more and more come each year. Miriam peered through borrowed specs.; Freddie brought Zazie and guests; Kitty, Antonia, Rory and Judith, Toby and Ursula and family, Heather, Julian... And by the produce tent, I spoke to Jill and the Frys, and of course Ian with photographs and fudge as well as beef brochures. Roger and Dave were around the Hall, where we paused for tea before returning to the car, clutching second hand books for the grandchildren, the brass band still playing, but clouds gathering to spoil the brightness of the afternoon.