A dark and murky day, marking the dark and murky end of a weekend at Buxton. Dot is in bed again with a bad cough, and I have lesser problems elsewhere, though there was a point on the drive home yesterday that I thought I had either kidney stones or appendicitis. The pain was so bad that Dot had to drive the last 30 miles, even though she was unwell. In fact I now believe it was trapped wind, which can also be pretty painful. I am also hovering on the brink of a cold, but hoping to step back from the edge. It’s all very déjà vu.
Despite all that, the weekend was not a disaster, except for Julia, who came with a bad cough and was clearly not feeling well throughout. She didn’t manage either of the walks. The first on Saturday afternoon was a repeat, through the park, past the golf club and up to the cross on top of Corbar Hill: only Dot made it all the way to the top – I stayed by the wall with Dave to keep him company. The second, on the Sunday, was from Hathersage up into the hills to the south and back along the River Derwent path: this possibly qualifies as the muddiest walk I’ve been on. Ever. Still, the weather was good (both days), and it was enjoyable.
While we were doing the latter walk, Julia was sitting in the David Mellor cafe, until she was given some hard looks and had to remove to the car. We were in such a muddle that we forgot to pay for our visit, and it was only when we returned after the walk for Lardy cake and ice cream (gooseberry and elderflower) that we remembered. We apologised and paid the total – they seemed quite pleased.
On the Saturday morning Julia had accompanied us to the idiosyncratic bookshop in Buxton – a strange experience, especially as I was feeling peculiar (something in my bowels) – and we had lunch in the Pavilion cafe, before Julia retired to her room and lay down. The meals at the restaurant were very pleasant, and it was nice to see our usual waiter and waitresses still in situ. Dave seemed to be getting a cough too on the Sunday. That’s the Caribbean for you.
On the way up to Buxton (an arduous journey) we stopped off to see Andrew, who had had his head shaved accidentally (in the sense that Helen was very annoyed that the staff had done it, although Andrew had agreed) and presented a somewhat esoteric appearance. We stayed for about an hour and chatted to Helen as well as to him. Head apart, he didn’t seem too bad.
On the way back we had intended to visit Ralph and Lynne at Darley Dale, but neither Dot nor I was feeling well enough. The journey was arduous again – very slow going on the A52 (the M1 was a no-go area, with long delays), a hold-up because of a nasty accident near Grantham and gradually increasing discomfort as far as I was concerned. We made it home about 3.20pm and didn’t do much after that.
Last Friday we drove down to London to see Kristine and David – both of them looking rather fragile. We had a delicious apricot tart and a reasonable journey in both directions.