Well this is nice, I must say. And no, that is not me being sarcastic. We’re on a lovely site here in Ashbourne (Blackwall Plantation, if you really want to know) and for today at least, it’s nearly empty. I’ve just been a good girl and done an hour’s work but I feel the lure of a magazine coming on. We had a trouble-free trip and took advantage of our proximity to Derby by calling in at Stenson and having lunch at the excellent cafe by the lock. I munched my egg and bacon sandwich while watching two boats wrestle with that very tricky equation of getting 14ft of boat to go through 12 feet of gate aperture. Like so many of the locks down to Chester that we recently encountered, the bottom gates wouldn’t go right back and so made for a problematic exit – thankfully, both boats were around the 60ft mark so they just about managed to manoeuvre themselves around and out.
We arrived here about 2.30pm and quickly installed ourselves. That is one of the joys of having a motorhome. A just does a handbrake turn, plugs in the electric and we’ve got the kettle on in less than 2 minutes. Pity the poor caravanners who take two hours to struggle with their aquarolls, wastemasters and awnings. Sometimes, they’ve barely finished when it’s time to go home again. How they must be dying for a cuppa by the end of it. Anyway, this is a perfect site for us. Good dog-walking plus woods and grass immediately
around us for post-prandial and early morning wees. We’re in a little enclave of our own at the moment but I’m told that the site is full tomorrow night so we’re expecting a big influx Friday afternoon. We’ve got the double whammy here of it being a Caravan Club site (always full at weekends seemingly) and it being in the Peak District, which is of course the back garden for about six cities. So expect it to be teeming. I’ve been told that there’s a path to the Carsington Water reservoir which might make for a good dog walk when Mike and Liz come over. Apparently there’s a path all the way round too. I thought that sounded nice....nine miles in total, said the warden. Mmm, that’s about eight miles too many, said I. And no, it’s not laziness, it’s my sciatica. (One complaint that sounds at home on an Italian menu, I always think)And now I think it’s time for tea. Stick the kettle on, darling. Sorry, what was that you said? What off?
