retiredmartin

April 2024. Chatsworth.

“Can we go to Edensor this afternoon“ asks Mrs RM on Friday lunchtime.

“Edensor ?” I said excitedly.

Never heard of it, and neither had What Pub, it seems.

It’s the estate village for Chatsworth House, which you’ll remember as the place where Keira Knightly reads improving books in Pride and Prejudice.

I’m up for that, as long as I don’t actually have to go round a stately home.

Edensor (pop. 145, average age 144) has an attractive gated entrance and a tea shop that might sell bottle conditioned beers, who knows.

We save ourselves for a pub and admire the immaculately manicured houses presumably occupied by gentlefolk who presumably cultivate strawberries for Chatsworth cream teas.

It reminds me of Heronsgate near the Land of Liberty etc etc etc, and Mrs RM loves the Instagram opportunities,

but it’s the newborn lambs we’ve really come for. Sadly we’d just missed the umbilical cord stage.

If we keep walking past the sheep we’ll not only see not a soul, we’ll also end up at the Devonshire Arms a mile away,

So we head back, via St Peters,

where you can see the ACTUAL bones of the Dukes of Devonshire.

Or at least that’s what I tell the Japanese visitors, because Japanese tourists demand answers, made up or otherwise.

Anyway, that’s the sermon for the day. Think of it as an Untappd check-in, for churches.