27th July 2019

Jamie’s project to build a garage/carport is now complete. I, along with some of his friends, helped out at various stages, but the vast majority of the work he did himself. It’s quite an impressive bit of building and carpentry; he should be proud of what he’s achieved.

With Ellis and Lucas having different school holidays and Charlotte busy with her gardening business, Sue and I have been looking after the boys, and Harry the greyhound, at various times over the past few weeks. Sue has mainly entertained the boys with cinema trips and days out while I’ve stayed home, keeping Harry occupied with walks and treats. Occasionally, we’ve doubled up with visits from Sarah, Lee, and Mia, making for some lively family gatherings.

Charlotte, Jamie, and Sarah finally went on their rescheduled ghost night at Newstead Abbey, the former home of Lord Byron in Nottinghamshire. It turned out to be a long (and supposedly spooky) evening, wandering around the ancient house with other like-minded thrill-seekers. While they remained sceptical, a few intriguing moments caught their attention. Whatever they experienced, it was enough to pique their interest; they’re already keen to do another one!

Suraj and Charlotte have been busy fortifying their chicken enclosure, determined to keep Mr Fox at bay. They dismantled the old playhouse I had built years ago for the boys, long since out of use, and repurposed the wood to construct what can only be described as a chicken Alcatraz. The original playhouse platform remains, now decked out by Suraj, as a relaxing spot for Charlotte to keep watch over her flock. Apparently, the new defences have already been tested, with Mr Fox making an inspection visit this week. This has led Suraj to consider acquiring a paintball gun, perhaps in the hope that a well-placed splash of red might send the intruder packing for good!

Meanwhile, Lee has been hard at work on his own construction project, converting the outhouse into a gym. He even enlisted the help of a cousin for some school-organised work experience. From the photos I’ve seen, his DIY skills have come on in leaps and bounds, and the results look impressive. I look forward to seeing the finished product, though I’ll be giving the gym facilities a miss; my body is doing a fine job of deteriorating without any extra encouragement!

Sarah, not to be left out, has been putting her own skills to use, reviving the pond and garden borders. It seems everyone’s been busy with one project or another!

Despite my knee’s unfortunate implosion, we decided to go ahead with our planned visit to Derbyshire. Walking was, of course, out of the question, even with a stick, but we were determined to explore the local attractions as best we could by car. Since I couldn’t drive, we took Sue’s Suzuki. Normally, we’d arrive early, park up, and set off on a circular walk before checking into the hotel in the afternoon. This time, with no walk on the agenda, we left home later and adjusted our plans accordingly.

On the way to Dale Abbey, we made a brief stop at the Risley Hall Hotel to locate it and take a short break. Dale Abbey, also known as Deepdale, is a small village with a rich history. It was once home to a grand 12th-century Augustinian monastery, which must have been a truly impressive sight before Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries in 1536. Now, little remains of the original structure, though many of the surrounding cottages bear traces of its past, their walls incorporating recycled stone from the ruined abbey.

After exploring the ruins of the monastery, we walked to a nearby wood, where we found Hermit Cave. Carved into the sandstone cliff by a 12th-century Derby baker seeking a life of solitude, the cave is remarkably well preserved. Measuring six yards by three, it features a doorway, two windows, a peephole, and a niche for a light. According to legend, Ralph Fitz-Geremund, a Norman nobleman, was hunting in his English woods when he encountered the hermit. Moved by his poverty, he not only granted him the land for his hermitage but also a tithe from his mill in nearby Borrowash. The hermit later built a more substantial oratory and a cottage, where he spent the rest of his days. Though the trek to the cave was painful, it was well worth the effort, and we must return to explore further.

We enjoyed our picnic lunch, basking cheekily in the sun, and sat on benches in the garden of a small but popular village café. Afterwards, we made our way to the hotel and checked in. Following a short rest, we took a gentle stroll around this original 11th-century Saxon country house, set within ten acres of private, sculpted gardens and grounds. The Willoughby family acquired the manor of Risley in 1350 and were responsible for much of Risley Hall’s construction, which largely dates from the 16th century. That evening, we dined at the hotel, and after breakfast the next morning, we set off for our next accommodation, Eastwood Hall Hotel. Once again, we checked its location before continuing to our next destination, Codnor Castle.

Our journey, however, was not straightforward. Following the Satnav, we were directed down a narrow single-track road off the main highway, but a sign warned that it was a private road with no vehicle access. Sue asked a woman in a soft-top Mercedes whether the castle could be reached via this road, and she flatly said no. Resetting the Satnav, we rerouted through Ironville, only to encounter another sign with the same wording. Checking the map, we discovered there were only two access roads, both marked as private. Deciding to press on regardless, we passed cottages, farms, horse riders, and a riding school before finally reaching the castle grounds, with a golf course visible beyond. The woman had lied; the castle was a mere quarter of a mile from where we had originally stopped. She had tricked us into an unnecessary five-mile detour! I suspect she either owned or worked at the riding school and simply didn’t want visitors arriving by car. A classic case of equestrian elitism!

Perched on a ridge overlooking the Erewash Valley in Derbyshire, Codnor Castle boasts a rich history. Dating back to the late 12th or early 13th century, it served as the stronghold of one of medieval England’s most powerful families for 300 years, the De Greys, also known as the Barons Grey of Codnor. Though little remains today, the site features QR codes at key points, providing access to fascinating historical information, probably the most interesting QR codes I’ve ever scanned! Adjacent to the castle stands an abandoned farmhouse, which has been featured on Most Haunted. Perhaps the rest of the family would be interested in a visit?

After exploring as much as my knee would allow, we drove to Eastwood to visit the D.H. Lawrence Museum, the childhood home of the author. Situated in the former mining town of Eastwood, the house played a significant role in shaping his life and literature. A must-visit for any fan of his work, the museum offers fascinating insights into his eventful life; he certainly packed an extraordinary amount of living and writing into just 44 years. The town also features a D.H. Lawrence trail, marked out in blue on the pavement, which we would have loved to follow, but, on this occasion, it was not to be.

We later checked into the Eastwood Hall Hotel, where I rested my now sore knee while Sue explored the hotel and grounds before settling in a quiet spot to read the newspapers. That evening, we dined at the hotel, and after breakfast the following morning, we made our way back to Harborough. Despite the lack of rambling, it was a thoroughly enjoyable break, with plenty to keep us entertained.

The warm weather has meant that the fruit and vegetable plots are producing in abundance, keeping us both busy with picking and freezing. After last year’s disappointing potato harvest, this season is shaping up to be a bumper one. In between the hot spells, we’ve had welcome bouts of rain, helping to fill out the crops. Surely, the farmers can’t be complaining this year?

On 20th July, we joined Jeremy and Lynne Brown at a house party hosted by Frank in Brixworth. Sue drove. Jeremy and I used to coach rugby with Frank, and we both attended his stag night in Manchester when he got married, though we don’t see each other often these days. It was nice to catch up, but as most of the other guests were locals, and with the rain confining us indoors, we didn’t mix much beyond our own group. A shame, really, this summer has seen plenty of warm, clear evenings, with several family BBQs, so it was just bad luck that they picked the one rainy night in ages!

On 24th July, we celebrated our 43rd wedding anniversary with a meal at KTM Dine, a new Nepalese restaurant in town. The meal was excellent, and the chef even came out to chat with us. He was pleased to hear that we had visited Nepal and was surprised that I recognised “KTM” as the airport code for Kathmandu, an interesting and clever name choice, I thought, and a great way to save on letters!

With record-breaking temperatures in the UK, the pool has been getting plenty of use from family and friends. On the hottest day, when the temperature soared past 37°C, Charlotte, her friends, and their children spent the afternoon in the pool, only to be replaced by Jamie and his friends in the evening.

It seems we have quite the speedster in the family! During the end-of-year sports day at school, Lucas won all his races, and after breaking the school’s 100m sprint record, he was brought out during the final assembly of the year to be rewarded. A future Olympic sprinter, perhaps?

Sue has a new mobile. Like mine a few months ago, her Nokia Lumia running Windows 10 has now been replaced by a Sony Xperia, not because the phone had slowed down or stopped working properly, but because the apps she uses, Messenger and Facebook, no longer function on it. Google is slowly strangling the app market, making many useful apps unavailable without an Android phone. It’s a real shame that Microsoft is no longer willing to support Windows 10 Mobile, as, in my opinion, it was vastly superior to what Android offers in many ways. Now, she has to get to grips with a new phone, which can be quite a frustrating experience. I’ve been there!

On the second day of continuous rain, and if the weather maps are to be believed, it’s set to last most of next week! However, on Thursday, I’m off with Jamie for another X-ray (pun intended), escaping to Chernobyl and Kyiv, where the forecast is for dry and warm days.

A Reminiscence: This memory concerns a dodgy knee, though not mine this time! When I was much younger and training to be a teacher, I also took a mountain leadership course in the North Wales mountains. As part of the training, we were dropped off on one side of the mountain range and had to navigate to a designated location on the other side over the course of a couple of days, wild camping overnight. It wasn’t too challenging if you were fit, had the right gear and provisions, and could read a map well.

However, this particular trip was different. I had never met my partner before our provisioning stop at Plas y Brenin (the National Mountain Centre). He was from Birmingham, with a thick Brummie accent that took some getting used to. I can’t recall his proper name, but he preferred to be called Baz. We didn’t know our starting point or exit location until we were dropped off by a minibus.

After a lengthy discussion to determine exactly where we were on the map, and realising that his navigation skills left a lot to be desired, we eventually set off. The route was time-sensitive; we had to reach the exit point by a set deadline. Baz turned out to be good company, with a dry sense of humour similar to my own. While he was fit, I got the impression he hadn’t spent much time in Snowdonia and was unfamiliar with this particular area.

Having eaten a full breakfast at the centre, we decided to push on without stopping for lunch to get ahead of schedule. By late afternoon, we were deep in the mountains, traversing a scree slope, when Baz slipped and badly injured his knee. I taped it up and suggested we head for the nearest road so he could get a lift back to the centre, but he was adamant about continuing. He had missed out on this part of the course previously and was determined to complete it.

Reluctantly, I agreed to carry both our rucksacks to ease the strain on his knee, at least until we reached our campsite for the night, hoping rest would help. By the time we sorted his knee and discussed our options, we had lost quite a bit of precious daylight. His rucksack felt inexplicably heavy, even though I was carrying the tent while he was supposedly only packing cooking utensils and a gas burner. We had each packed our own food supplies.

We pressed on for a few hours, making reasonable progress. I was cautiously optimistic that his knee might hold up the next morning. Eventually, exhausted and on top of a ridge, we stopped for a meal. I pulled out a couple of snack bars and a sandwich from my pack while Baz rummaged in his rucksack and triumphantly produced… a tin of pineapple chunks and a can opener.

I watched in silence as he devoured the contents and then pulled out another tin. And another. By the third can, I had to ask: “How many of those have you got?”

It turned out I had been lugging ten tins of pineapple chunks up the bloody mountain. When I asked what else he had packed, he grinned and said, “Cheese!” Delving back into his sack, he proudly produced half a round of cheddar.

That was all he had brought.

I was not amused. Emptying his rucksack, I declared that we were both going to eat as much as we could now, and then I was taking him down to the nearest road, where I would happily wave good riddance. Despite his protests, I was in no mood for debate. We managed to polish off all the pineapple and nearly half the cheese. I love cheese, but even I have my limits!

Leaving the remaining cheddar for the crows, I hauled his now much-lighter rucksack down the nearest slope, reaching a road just over a mile away. Dumping him there in silence, I turned back towards the mountains. Annoyingly, within ten minutes, I spotted him getting picked up by a concerned motorist. Personally, I would have preferred him to wait several hours, if not days.

That night, camping alone beside Glaslyn, a small lake, I found I had absolutely no appetite. Instead, I snuggled into my sleeping bag and slept soundly, dreaming of the report I would write at the end of this little adventure, one that would soon be handed in at the centre. Revenge would be mine.

I reached the deadline with a couple of hours to spare, still carrying a small slab of cheese I hadn’t left for the birds. I never saw Baz again, though I later heard from the centre that he had failed the course.

Not exactly a surprise.