There was a faint rainbow when we arrived, but luckily for us, most of the wet weather appeared to be heading for the far bank.
Coincidentally, it was almost exactly a year since we were there last and explored the ferry terminal where Bob Dylan was famously photographed on his 'Judas' tour.
I'm glad we gave it a good going-over because it's not there any more.
Gone the turnstile to the gents He might have passed through. Gone the urinal He might have peed at. Gone the poem I might have written ... except it's already safely published.
A little further upstream there was a rowing boat, washed up on the warth and not looking particularly water-worthy.
And the familiar stripy cliffs.
Though if there were a bridge to Europe, that would be my best one ever right now.
Still quietly confident I'll never catch myself calling the new crossing the Prince of Wales Bridge.
Up in the village my first primroses of the year ...
... and a pair of vintage petrol pumps.
Some orders are good to follow, so we saw that the gallons figures were shuttered and the pointer vertical before we commenced delivery at the nearby Boars Head.