There is no guttering underneath a thatched roof.
Water droplets gather size and momentum as they roll down the slope and find their target, unerringly, down the back of your neck.
So much that I need to do outside yet the rain is still hurling down. It’s no good even attempting it on days like this. Slithering about on the sodden clay would be frustrating enough. More likely it would be derriere over apex before I could even get a fork in the ground.
And excuses for avoiding the dusting have now officially run out..