Should be feeling reinvigorated after a weekend at Buxton, but this proved not to be the case, as I was feeling quite ill for much of it. I had a minor sort of virus going on in the background, with quite a lot of coughing, but on the first night there I had a stomach problem which kept me away most of the night. Painful and worrying, but I still don’t know what caused it, because it didn’t resolve itself in the usual way (if you see what I mean). At first I thought it might be a kidney problem, but I now think it was probably something I ate. The fish and chips certainly seemed underdone.
As a result I stayed in bed on Saturday morning (the pain had miraculously gone) while Dot and the Evetts went down into Buxton. Dot brought me a sandwich back for lunch, which was fine, and we all went into town again (or me for the first time) in the afternoon. Saw the new Pump Room, which is quite spectacular, showcasing the spa element of the town. Called in at Catherine’s upstairs cafe, where I declined the prosecco. In the evening, after another doze, I had two starters instead of a main, which turned out to be a good idea. Also went to bed early and slept rather better.
The poor forecast for Sunday inclined us toward going into Manchester on the train, but the forecast changed overnight, and instead we drove to Hartington, had coffee in a very pleasant cafe and then walked for about four miles, partly along the Tissington Trail, partly along the High Peak Trail and partly along a very muddy farm track. Dot did well despite wearing Julia’s boots because we had “forgotten” to bring hers. I had put the two boot bags in from the garage, not realising that her boots were not in the boot bag, but two lots of her summer shoes were.
During the walk there was quite a bit of sun, and much less wind than there had been the previous day (and has been since). Afterwards we went back to the cafe and had lunch, before walking reluctantly (in my case) round the town, taking in the Old Cheese Shop and a place that sold caps. We bought some excellent cheese and, unexpectedly, a cap that fit me so perfectly that I could not reject it. It is a sort of Peaky Blinders style but suits me despite that – so I am told.
I omitted to mention that on the way up to Buxton we almost ran out of petrol, but found a lonely service station – just north of Hartington, as it turned out – which sold petrol at roughly the same price as the Tesco station in Buxton. Bit of a relief. And stupid not to have bought it earlier. I momentarily thought Derbyshire was more civilised than it is. I should have known, with the blanket 50mph limits on the main roads.
On Sunday night I risked a steak, and it was fine. We still went to bed fairly early, though. On the way home Dot and I called in to see Andrew, who was on pretty good form, though he was eating his lunch when we arrived. They told him we were waiting for him in his room, but he forgot and started watching a film on TV. We are not the attraction we used to be. Helen and Hollity were very welcoming as usual. Andrew’s new chair looked good.
The drive home was straightforward. We stopped at Cambridge Services, which was in stark contrast to last time we were there. Easy to access and quite empty.
Way before we went to Buxton – in the Tuesday – I went to a funeral at Carlton Colville. This was for Marjorie Solomon, who had been coming to our church for the last couple of years. She was 91 and had been living with her son Steve and his partner Sharon, who brought her to church in a wheelchair. She was a lovely old lady, and seven of us – Liz and David Cannon, Debbie, Ray and Christine and Ellie – went to the parish church for the service and the burial in the churchyard. There was a bitter wind, but a nice hour or so in the pub afterwards. Marjorie had lived just over the road from the pub nearly all her life. Some nice things were said on her behalf about how welcoming our church was. It was worth missing my haircut (Dot had hers done as usual because it would have been too difficult to rearrange.)
The next day Dot and I went to North Walsham and put some flowers on her parents’ grave, and on Doreen’s. It was her mother’s 100th birthday.
Today the wind is still cold; so we took a bus up to the Archant Pensioners’ Coffee Morning. Neville Miller was there (former theatre critic and feature writer on the Evening News), as were the usual suspects. Discovered Robin is 88.