It's International Day of the Wellie, that's for sure but what's a bit of rain to us seasoned festival-goers.
I got my act together managed the tour of the house and this time had a very close look at the embarrassment of Reynolds's paintings that abound at Port Eliot before dashing up the hill to listen to Sarah Waters.
This involved some determination and queuing outside the tent waiting for Hanif Kureishi to finish, a few people to venture out and then you sort of join in a surge which then becomes musical chairs as you dash for an empty chair which sadly has a bag on it when you get there. Eventually I was swept into the second row which was fine but for the fact I wasn't going to be able to get out to dash back up the hill and catch Kamila Shamsie.
Look at the amazing Port Eliot elephant, all made out of the pages of a book...who knows which one.
Cathy St Germans introduced Sarah Waters and received a wonderful round of applause when introduced as the person who has helped put the lights back on at Port Eliot and you could hear the gratitude.
Sarah Waters was excellent and coped magnificently with the sudden onset of the sludge-gulping lorry pulling up outside the marquee to do its stuff. This is the joy of an event like this, other festivals would have sent someone dashing out to silence the lorry but also in the background the steady beat of music, the occasional recognisable electric guitar riff (Led Zeppelin, I'll swear it was) and all life carries on around. Children rough and tumble during an event and nobody minds, not a bit of frowning, not a tutt, it's all in a day's festivities.
Sarah, interviewed by Hadley Freeman, Guardian columnist, was fascinating as she described the writing of the book and how intrigued I was to hear that the inspiration for The Little Stranger came as she was staying at the Dartington Literary Festival a few years ago.
Something else I hadn't realized, Dr Faraday has no first name.
By this time the wind is gusting and the rain is tipping down big time so back up the hill to find much hilarity and stoic resolve at the Persephone tent as, like caryatids, everyone hanging onto a pole to stop lift-off. Bookhound of course has experience of this because I haven't actually told you about our orbiting Gaze-Bo yet, but eventually watching water dripping onto books was more than any of us could cope with, so we all helped Persephone decamp into the Festival bookshop marquee.
Now I must fly because it's Ralph McTell time, he needs me there even if I do look like a bit like...
Have you seen the old girl
Who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rag
She's no time for talking
she just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home in two carrier bags...