The staycation

On Thursday 21 November I once more found myself settling into a seat for a trip back to see the folks.  Festive wreaths donned the walls of the plane, giving the surrounds a more joyous feel.  Not that there is much fun when it comes to the first leg of the journey, at fourteen hours.  This visit was a bit closer to the last one than my usual nine monthly trips, having only been six months ago.  The reason for this was to align it with a holiday that my sister and her family were taking.  Leaving me and the folks to fend for ourselves:

While I endeavoured to get some sleep, at home Lisa was enjoying the luxury of more room in our bed.  She had even relegated my pillows to the floor.  At least it seemed Nicka was missing me.  Sleeping on my pillows for the first part of each night, before sneaking into the bed on to join Lisa and Sooky.  Unbeknown to me, I was flying towards Storm Bert.  As the plane descended after the second flight, the countryside of England below was coated in white.  Not having a window seat I didn’t manage to get a picture of the wintery sight:

It looked lovely on arrival.  However, much of Scotland, Wales, and England was being ravaged by the storm.  Strong winds and heavy rain and snowfalls resulted in severe damage.  Homes and business were destroyed, life in many parts were further disrupted by the flooding of roads and rail lines, and lives were lost.  The area my parents and sister live was fortunately not affected by the storm in any great way.  I had also luckily arrived at the tail end of the storms, and more settled weather was on the way:

Arriving on Friday morning there was not much time to chill out on the first day.  We were due to head out late in the morning for lunch at the hospital in Manchester, before an appointment for my Dad.  These sort of trips have been the norm for my stays with the folks over recent years.  This time however there was only one face to face appointment on the cards.   My sister wasn’t flying out till Sunday, and having just arrived I was grateful she drove us to Manchester.  There was a phone appointment on another day, but other than that our time was free:

As expected the snow was all gone when Saturday arrived.  A result of milder temperatures that came with the tail end of the storm, which had brought in wet and windy weather overnight and for most of Sunday.  This put paid to my intention of going out for an early morning walk.  I did however get out with Neil for a wander round Stockport while Asha and Leena went to get their nails done in preparation for their holiday to sunnier climates in Spain.  The Christmas market wasn’t much cop but it was nice to have a catch up with Neil:

He suggested we could visit the air raid shelters built for the second world war, which was a fascinating place.  One of the single biggest loss of civilian life occurred when a building was bombed, and approximately five hundred people were buried alive in the basement where they were sheltered.  As such the government did not sanction air raid shelters that housed more than five hundred people to avoid mass causalities.  The Stockport council went against this order and dug tunnels into the bed rock.  A two man team could dig a meter a day:

Within a year the tunnels were ready and could house four thousand people.  With a canteen, first aid area, running water, electricity, and flushing toilets the ‘luxurious’ standards resulted in them being called the Chestergate Hotel.  Originally paid for by the local council, it was such a success that the government agreed to pay for extensions resulting in a mile of tunnels as well as several other tunnels close by.  Providing refuge for an additional four and a half thousand people, these networks were the only large scale purpose built shelters in the country:

It was a very worthwhile place to visit and we peppered the staff with questions, which loaded me up with lots of amazing information.  Too much to go into here.  Just before midday Seeta picked the folks up and brought them out so we could all pile into the pub for a feed.  The Arden Arms is a grade II listed building, built in 1815.  One of only two pubs in England with a room that can only be accessed by going through the servery.  It also has handpumps fitted to the back of the bar in the original fashion, rather than the counter:

Seeing I wasn’t driving I indulged in a good old British ale, and it went down very well indeed.  After today I would be the one driving, so it was the only beer that I managed during our trips out.  Many of the places we visited were old and steeped in history.  And what would a trip to the folks be without a cuppa, cake, and game at Pear Mill.  Popping in on the way back from the pub, and this time only Seeta, the folks, and I partook in this ritual.  I did wander round to check to the antiquities, managing to restrain myself from buying anything:

If you are keen to read up about Pear Mill’s history you’ll have to check one of my previous posts (https://sandbagged.blog/2022/08/01/time-to-head-back/) or go online.  From day one I was keen to get into a routine, and it was early to bed and early to rise.  However, for a second day my morning walk was scuppered.   Sunday morning came in wet and windy.  Seeta and family would be escaping this weather, as they were jetting off on their holiday relatively early.  Living just round the corner I popped over to wish them a happy holiday:

Then it was just the folks and me.  We dusted off a few of the games from their cupboard, which had not been out since my last visit.  Played a few games and at eleven or so our intention was to head out for a pub lunch.  It was to be my first time of driving them into the countryside.  The roads here are narrow in comparison to back home, definitely busier, unfamiliar to me, and all up less relaxing to drive on.  Because of this I had for the first time in all my visits purchased a roaming pack for my phone, to allow google maps direct me:

Or so I had hoped.  For some reason, as technology does, it was glitching and not connecting.  This resulted in the first trip out, which was the only one in wet and manky conditions, not being very pleasant for me.  We did however make it to The Butley Ash, and just like my phone’s antics this pub was disappointing.  Something we all agreed on, and something I hoped would not set a precedence for the rest of trips.  Back at home I got to work on the phone, and without needing to change any settings it was suddenly all peachy:

Monday arrived and everything was fresh, bright, and seemed to fall into place.  The weather cleared up, I got out for a morning walk, and google maps made the route finding on the many windy roads way more pleasant and enjoyable.  After the hick-up with our, or should I say my, first pub of choice, I had spent a bit of time looking for places that looked worthwhile.  This included cafes as well as pubs.  On arrival at today’s café it did not look like much from the outside.  But a cosy interior, tables made for playing games, and hearty food made it perfect:

I’ll confess that my investigations of where to head was somewhat swayed by other motives.  Being on the edge of the Peak District, I was keen to visit differing areas and when possible drive past old climbing haunts.  Such as Stoney Middleton, with its great limestone walls.  At my folks age, mobility is definitely on the decline and the idea of going out for a wander with them was optimistic at best.  So our trips were very much a country drive, with food stops.  And while I threw in places like this one, we didn’t hang about at these:

It was a quick photo, and then onwards to the next food destination.  Taking in the countryside, and enjoying seeing new places along the way.  In theory being Monday I was supposed to be heading out for a walk with Dave, my folks old postie.  He has changed his rounds so works closer to his home.   This is good for him but this means he can no longer read the weekly postcards I send my folks.  That said we still keep in touch, and Monday was his one free day.  Sadly a cold had taken hold of him, and neither of us felt the risk was worth it:

I didn’t want to catch it, but more importantly we did not want to risk my folks getting it.  Hopefully, we will get out for a wander next time, and just to plant a seed in Dave’s brain as he reads this, the Snowdon Horseshoe Scramble is particularly good.  On the plus side having Monday with the folks meant we enjoyed what was mostly a sunny day out.  With some three hours of driving through rolling hills, and scarps capped with the infamous Peak District gritstone (https://sandbagged.blog/2017/07/30/part-4-the-peak-district-learning-the-ropes/):

Our daily routines were starting to form.  I was up at five, and despite first light not coming in until after seven I would head out for a two to three hour walk.  Meaning at times I walked in darkness for the whole walk.  Picking up the daily rag on the way back.  My dad no longer picks up these papers, so is no longer the oldest paperboy in the hood.  Seeta now drops the papers off at the aged care centre and bring one back for my folks.   This was my job for the week.  Then it was breakfast and games, before getting ready to hit the road at eleven:

Heading to a, hopefully, well selected food establishment or two via a three hour or so country drive circuit.  This would see us return by four when it was starting to get dark.  After which a few more games would lead us towards the end of the day, and a bit of quiet telly time.  What with all the big daytime meals, no one would feel like an evening meal so a snack was sufficient.  On Tuesday I left a little later for my walk.  Keen to watch the sunrise but also because today’s the phone appointment would change things a bit:

We waited an hour for the phone to ring, and then gave up and headed to the Pack Horse Inn.  Due to the later than usual arrival we got to a fairly busy pub, with lots of the areas reserved for groups.  There was a table free, and we enjoyed another lovely meal but it was certainly a tad noisy.  Resulting in making it a bit uncomfortable. More so for my mam due to her hearing going downhill.  As a result I started to plan a bit more.  Not only picking our destinations, but also booking a table and asking for one that was quiet and out of the way:

The noise aside the pub was great, as was the meal.  And the drive through another part of the Peak District, this time not taking in any old climbing areas of mine, was equally enjoyable.  When we got back there was a message on the phone, left at three thirty.  Four and a half hours after the time we were told they would call, so we didn’t feel bad for missing it.  For my Wednesday morning walk I came across something I didn’t expect, a milk float.  Hand delivered milk bottles are something of a rarity these days, but used to be common practise:

For most of the 20th century the British milk float undoubtedly comprised the vast majority of electric vehicles on the road.  Some twelve hundred were made each year.  And while they still exist, since the 1990s they have become a rare sight.  This find brought back memories, as well as one in particular.  During a school trip in 1983 or 84, we went to North Wales and stayed at the Snowdon Bryn Gwynant youth hostel.  The hostel is set in forty two acres and one morning I encouraged two others to join me for an early walk, out the back over the hill:

When it was time to turn back, we didn’t recognise any of the landmarks and got thoroughly lost.  Eventually coming across a road, but it wasn’t the right one.  After speed marching for what left like an eternity we came across a milk float.  The milkman offered us a lift and took us several kilometres before he had to head in a different direction.  But got us onto the right road and the speed marching resumed.  We got back some three plus hours later to find everyone in the hostel out looking for us, and the teachers just about to call the police:

We missed out on breakfast, and as punishment had to do the washing up for the rest of the week.  But had a great adventure.  I asked my folks if they had any memory of what would have been considered major incident of child safety these days, and they said no they didn’t even realise it happened.  How times change.  We didn’t get lost during our country drive on Wednesday.  Admittedly we went back to the Yondermann Café upon my dad’s request, and my mam nor I complained as the oat cakes there were worthy of the Roaches Teahouse:

To understand the significance of the Roaches Teahouse you’ll have to dig into the two posts I have linked above.  After our feed and a game we drove towards the Peak View Tea Rooms, which was a last minute change from where I intended to go.  A change I didn’t check quite thoroughly enough, as Wednesday was the one day it was closed.  So we drove on and didn’t spot anywhere that looked inviting enough for us to stop.  This meant that the appetites were up that night, and it was my mam that chose an Indian from Indigos:

She was also keen to wander down to eat out, but my dad wasn’t keen on the idea of having to go back out.  It was probably more the walk that put him off, so I offered to wander down to order it and bring it back.  This allowed me to have a cheeky quiet beer while I waited for the food to be cooked.  Rather than a British ale, seeing we were having an Indian meal, it had to be a Cobra beer that originally came from a brewery in Bangalore, but is now made in England.  The next morning was the coldest.   It was minus four degrees as I stepped outside:

The meant that many of the muddy paths, which I had been navigating in the dark would not be quite as slippy in the same way.  Instead there were plenty of places where ice covered the ground.   I had to keep an eye out for condition of the smoother sections, which were more likely to send me flying this time.  It was worth the risk to see the frost covered fields.  It is not possible to put the heater on in the car without it affecting my mams breathing.  As the daytime temperature didn’t get above five degrees, this made for a chilly drive:

My dad on the other hand isn’t too good at tolerating the cold, another one of those seemingly minor things for which they have different needs and likes.  And as they become more weary these differences need to be well managed.  There were several cold days, and for these my dad was wrapped up in a cosy blanket on the back seat.  I managed to weather the cold to save my mam from starting to wheeze, cough, and finally start spluttering.  Today the coldness was forgiven as we arrived at what was the best pub of the trip:

The Lazy Trout was the furthest south we ventured, located between Leek and the mighty Roaches that could be seen from the carpark.  It was the only place we went where they had games available to borrow, and we were given a large game playing sized table away from the noise.  The food looked and was scrumptious, so much so that my dad didn’t hesitate to order a full sized meal.  It did however beat him, and he had to take a doggie bag home.  Although I suspect that was more down to the two huge portions of Indian he ate the night before:

Everything about this pub earnt it the top spot for the week.  The countryside was also lovely, and we went on some incredibly narrow roads between our stops.  Skinny, high hedged, roller-coaster lanes, just wide enough for one vehicle.  When we came across a car going the other way, one of us would have to reverse to the nearest passing area.  Areas that at times didn’t seem big enough to squeeze my folks small car in, let along wide enough to facilitate the passing of vehicles.  Somehow it worked, even when there was a lorry to contend with:

The roads, with google maps directing, made for very entertaining journeys.  I could feel both my dad and mam thoroughly enjoying the excitement of not knowing what was round the many tight corners or over the blind summits on these roads.  And then the roads would open up to lovely vistas, and for this trip that had to include a drive past Hen Cloud and Ramshaw Rocks, above and below.  And the Roaches, which are accessed via the above gate, that has an interesting accessory to stop the gate from making too much noise when it closes:

And if you have dipped into the posts linked above, you will know why having a climbing shoe for this purpose is quite topical.  We continued east through more roads that you just can’t drive fast along to the teahouse I had originally intended to take the folks to yesterday.  This time I double checked the opening times, and we were greeted to a delightful and quaint place.  Just like today’s pub and meandering roads the Aisseford Tea Room was a big hit.  And with the sweet treat in the afternoon, we were back to a light dinner.   Well two of us were:

As is the case every time I come back, it feels like the week is long.  Then by the time I get to my last morning walk I wonder where the days have gone.  It was probably the most speculator morning sky of the lot, and one that it would have been good to be in the higher hills for.  I had however chosen the circuit that had the most paved areas and least muddy bits, meaning it stuck to the lower areas.  This was in part due to not wanting to muddy up my boots too much, as they would need an extra thorough clean before I headed back:

After each walk I had given them a scrub to get the worst off, but for this last clean they needed to be detailed.  Coming into Australia, the slightest speck of mud could result in delays in getting back in.  It may sound sensationalist, but having witnessed what can happen I would rather avoid the situation.  For our last country drive, we headed in a roundabout way to The Cheshire Cheese Inn built in 1577.  The oldest pub we went to and named due to the packhorse men who worked the old salt route from Cheshire across the Pennines to Yorkshire:

They used the pub for lodgings and a feed, and paid for this with cheese.  The lower room still has the original cheese hooks to prove this.  It was built into the hillside, and as such has quite a few steps and some of these are quite big.  I made the mistake of parking uphill of the pub, out the back.   Completely overlooking the small carpark opposite the pub.  This meant we entered, much to the concern of the landlady, down these steep steps.  So concerned, she allowed us entry through the private area with more manageable steps:

We survived the adventure without incident, but I did move the car to the front to make an easier exit.  Much to the relief of the land lady.  The games came out as we waited for our food.  Being close to the festive period Dad enjoyed yet another mulled wine, relishing the heat of it just as much as the flavour.  With bellies full we managed the flat exit with ease, and then headed northwards to just outside of the Peak District and into South Yorkshire.  The Bank View Café sits up from Langsett Reservoir and is impossible to miss:

The café was on the route of the 2015 Tour de Yorkshire and the owner gave the building a special face lift, in 2014, to celebrate the event.   Using the King of the Mountain jersey colours.  They have remained since, and cafes connection with cycling has continued.  Having received many accolades including winning Cycling UKs Cyclist Cafe of the year 2019 Lifetime Achievement Award.  It was another friendly and very welcoming place, and great way to round of a week of exploring and finding new good spots to grab a feed:

The last slice of sugar must have invigorated my dad who, despite avoiding exertion whenever possible, took on the steps to get back to the car.  Even though there is a mobility access ramp.  The drive back included an additional stop to stock the house up on a few essentials.   Not that we had put much of a dent into the larder, what with all the eating out we had done.  It did also allowed us to pick up some milk for my sister’s house too.   Allowing them to have a cuppa on their return, which would be later on the same day I was leaving:

Saturday arrived, and I had booked a taxi to pick me up at seven thirty.  Allowing me enough time to grab the Saturday rag for my folks and Neil, and squeeze in a couple of final and very early morning games with the folks.  So early that I suspect my dad probably went back to bed after I left.  While Seeta and her mob had a relaxing, warm, and sunny holiday in Spain, my mam summed it up perfectly.  Saying it felt like they too had been on holiday this week with lovely trips out every day to visit plenty of great new pubs and cafes: