Leaving Plzen after a great but sweltering day of sightseeing, almost immediately as I pedalled away I heard a deep rumble which I put down to traffic. But it wasn't - it was thunder. The hot day had broken, and as I climbed up the hill in the gathering dusk the rumbling got louder and louder.

Soon, I was high in the hills above Plzen, and for 360 degrees all around I could see dry flashes amongst the hills. It was really dark now, and I started to get a bit alarmed that (i) I would get soaked and (ii) I was riding a steel bike through the thunderstorm with a brass wire attached to the mirror on my head. I turned on my lights, and absolutely beasted it back up the hill.

I don't think I changed down the whole way - . The lightening and thunder were pretty continuous now, and though it was dry, I knew it would be on me any minute. I removed my mirror - I couldn't see anything through it anyway, and was slightly concerned it might act as a lightening conductor. I couldn't see too well and didn't really want to slow down, so sung at the top of my voice to keep my spirits up and to give anyone (else) who might be stupid enough to be on the path a warning that I was coming. If you want to know who the lunatic was bellowing Jerusalem in the middle of the storm and dark on the hills above Plzen on that Sunday - well, you better hope it was me.

I got back without too much navigational difficulty, just before it broke. I had covered the distance in about half the time of this morning, and was panting hard. I took shelter in the shower block as the rain really did hammer down - at least it was a lot cooler. And then - it cleared. I took the opportunity to inspect the tent (still dry inside) and to have a wash, and then settled down to sleep. Unfortunately, the weather came back with a vengeance...

It was about 11pm when I got to sleep. After midnight, I dimly heard thunder again, and the rain started to come down with a vengeance. At first I thought it was just the tent amplifying the sound, but I could hear water gurgling and running outside. Sleep was now impossible, as it was a bit like being inside a snare drum. The old Duolite, as always, performed like a champ - no water at all came through the flysheet, and I could hear drops continually pinging off it.

But I was worried about the ground I'd pitched on. It was a bit of a sandy depression, a flat place to pitch and the only place I could get the pegs in firmly - but also liable to flood in, say, the event of a heavy rainstorm. Experimentally I put out my hand and rested it on the groundsheet, and found to my horror it sank into a good half centimetre of water. I picked up my Kindle, also lying on the groundsheet, and realised it was soaked (fortunately it kept working fine, and indeed still is).

By now it was like I was sleeping on a lilo in the middle of a deepening pool of water. The inflatable Thermarest does a good job of being waterproof as well, but obviously the base of it was soaking, and I had to make a special effort not to lean over the edge of it. Not conducive to a great night's sleep.

Amazing, while everything else in the tent got wet by being inundated from below, the flysheet held out and I managed to keep the down sleeping bag almost completely dry. By morning - I hadn't slept too well - the rain had slackened and stopped, and I could peel my soggy self out of the tent and get the bag safely stowed in the dry panniers. The tent itself was soaking, and couldn't be dried. I removed the inner from the outer, and packed them in their own waterproof bag (which was now going to keep water in during the day). 

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