Making the most of our post-29/3 freedom, we’ve been heading south-west into the peaks.
The mill village of Calver is just south of Hathersage, and just north of Bakewell (home of the 1995 “sausage incident”). I aim to be the Derbyshire Dales expert by the end of 2021.
The only problem with these trips is that the Peak District is better walked than photographed, and pubs like the Eyre Arms (named after striker John “Johnny” Eyre of Hull Tigers and Oldham fame) taunt me with their offer of Pedigree on the Glorious 12th.
710 souls, 71,001 sheep, all waiting to be explored at the top of Calver Peak, and all ours.
A lovely sharp descent, too, with inquisitive sheep. But no lambs yet, sadly.
Both pubs have space four campervan, but it’s much crueller to make Mrs RM walk the 3.1 miles from Grindleford Station as part of her fitness regime, won’t it ?
Talking of Mrs RM, still no correct answers for the popster who she thinks looks like me at age 6.