Unexpected guest (s) and a walk from the newspaper! Grrr.

Friday April 4^th.

We went in to Uni and came away again. Nothing was going on and the place seemed to have packed up for the Easter break already.

Technically this is not true. We did go in but then we met one of Laura’s fellow Maths Undergrads in a state of confusion in the admin. block. She was required to leave her student accommodation today but her lift back home had been incapacitated and she had to wait until Sunday. The accom. Manager was very unsympathetic and had told her that she had to go because of precedent setting etc.

Laura and I became the good Samaritans. Laura had a whispered conversation with me, the upshot of which was we agreed she could us our spare room until Sunday when her Uncle was collecting her, slightly delayed. I enquired why she couldn’t just get the train home but she said she had too much stuff.

Laura told her we could take the stuff as well and she could be collected from ours on Sunday. This seemed to make the confusion disappear and she seemed very relieved. We drove up Lydgate Lane to her room and found there was a mass of stuff. Three suitcases, a laptop rucksack, an ordinary rucksack, a holdall and two large cardboard boxes, all destined for the wild lands of Warwickshire over the Easter break. We could see how this might present a carriage problem for her and British Rail.

Sally, for that is the aforementioned undergrad’s name, was delighted that we were able to help. We piled most of her stuff into the boot of my car but the cardboard boxes had to sit beside her on the back seat.

On the drive from Uni to Oughtibridge we had a potted history of Sally Holmes. She lives in Nuneaton and has two brothers and a sister all younger than she. Her siblings are still at school. Her Mum is a GP and her Dad a chef. She has been quite friendly with Laura since she started in September so I had no qualms at all in helping her out. In fact she was one of the group with whom we went to the restaurant one lunchtime last month for a celebration meal and was also at the Student Party we attended in March. She was one of the audience watching Laura and I wipe the floor with our bridge opponents.

At our place we unloaded all Sal’s stuff and heaped it into the spare room. Callie, as usual, barked like buggery at a newcomer to the house and then sniffed her to death. I was pleased that she could tell me that Callie was a Weimaraner. Not many people recognise what breed she is. Apparently her Mum has always hankered after a Hungarian Vizsla but they have never had one; four children being considered too much of a houseful already.

We had a swift cuppa and considered our options for the day. It was just coming up to lunchtime so I suggested a quick snack and then some exercising of the woofie as she was looking a little longingly at the door.

We had bacon and egg baps, huge monsters of baps which filled every available space in my tummy. Callie was then treated to a stroll up to Hill Top Woods, along the road to Onesacre and then down to Coumes Brook and into the village. We called in at the restaurant for a chat with Dominic as Laura is working there tonight and he was surprised to hear that Sally’s Dad was a chef. They had a chat about cookery which seemed to please him no end.

Sally said she knew Sheffield was hilly but as we walked back up the lane to our little row of houses, it brought out exactly how hilly it really is. Our lane is phenomenally steep and always takes a walker’s breath way by the time the reach our little side branch. She said, “No wonder you two are so slim if you do this every day.”

Laura said, “The swimming helps too.”

We explained how we go to the local pool every morning and she was free to join us tomorrow if she wanted. She said she’d think about it. I guess that means ‘no thanks’!

We had a pasta and bacon concoction for tea, with mushrooms and Crème fraiche. The other two shredded parmesan on top of theirs once it was on their plates, Sally was surprised by my cheese allergy. She thought she couldn’t exist without cheese!

She and I spent an evening chatting and having a bottle of Uncle Hilmar’s red wine while Laura worked her fingers to the bone to earn her meagre crust. (Nearly £40 in tips tonight!) Sally despairs of her two brothers; Aiden and Paul but thinks sister Steph may be salvageable! It must be strange being the oldest child in the family.

When Laura came home we finished off the bottle and hit the charp. I showed Sal how the shower worked, if she wanted one before we were up in the morning and explained that she would encounter Callie downstairs, sleeping in her crate, if she ventured forth.

Saturday April 5^th.

I walked Callie as usual this morning and was surprised to find a pair of Maths Undergrads waiting to go swimming when I got back. Sal had dug her cossie from her baggage and was prepared to give it a go, too.

She isn’t much of a swimmer compared with Laura and me, but then I have been doing this for years and Laura for the last eight months – so she had plenty of catching up to do. We had a gossip with Sarah afterwards who couldn’t believe there was yet another woman doing Maths at University! I guess she thinks most female undergraduates are wastrels like me doing totally uneconomic degrees purely for the love of learning!

We picked up the newspapers from Sylv’s and headed back for brekkers. Today we were having a full English as our plan was to walk Derwent Edge from Ladybower and then stroll back along the east side of the Lake. Sal was aware of what we were planning to do and asked if she could tag along, never having been into the Peak District. I was aghast, how could she have been at Uni in Sheffield for almost two years and never have ventured forth into the National Park? I lent her a pair of my fabric walking boots (I have masses of pairs) and a spare waterproof. She was going to walk in jeans but Laura was able to persuade her to change into something which would dry quickly if it got wet, so she put some leggings on instead.

Laura was in charge of the sangers while I did two flasks of tea. I gave Sal a small day sack and she stuffed the coat into it and her sandwiches and a couple of pieces of fruit. As we were the rufty tufty types Loll and I took a flask each and a cold drink bottle each too. I chucked Sally a packet of tissues as we left the house, just in case.

“In case of what?” She asked.

“A call of nature, “ Laura grinned back at her.

I drove us over the hill to Bradfield (both High and Low versions) then on through the winding roads to Hollow Meadows. On the A57 we headed off towards Manchester but stopped after a mile at Cuthroat Bridge. This was our starting point. The route takes a very gentle incline from the bridge up behind the Ladybower Inn to the start of Derwent Edge. The edge is a virtually flat ridge which can lead eventually (with competent map reading and compass work) to Margery Hill, we were dropping down to the foot of Derwent Reservoir wall and following the track back to the Ladybower.

Despite it being a pretty gentle slope up to the edge, Sally was quite out of puff when we got to the top, at Whinstone Lee Tor. We broke out some fruit each and had a sit behind an outcrop looking up the Derwent Valley. While having virtually no immediately discernable Fell Tops, unlike my beloved Lake District, the northern end of the Peak District, known as the Dark Peak, has its own windswept and spectacular grandeur. From our vantage point, looking north up the valley, you could see the eastern arm of Ladybower Reservoir and Derwent Dam wall. I was able to tell my companions that Derwent dam and its wall was where the famous 617, Dam Busters, Squadron had trained with their bouncing bombs before the Ruhr Dam raids in Germany during World war Two.

Fortified with fruit we sauntered along the edge and I was able to point out other areas of interest to my companions including Strines and Dale Dyke reservoirs to our right with High Bradfield in the distance and to the left the top of Win Hill, Mam Tor and the flat expanse of Kinder Scout way over.

The ridge also has several curious millstone grit outcrops with strange names like The Coach and Horses, The Salt Cellar, Hurkling Stones and Cakes O’ Bread. These make interesting challenges for the rock climber and I was able to scramble over them quite successfully while Sally stood looking worried at their foot. Laura explained that we did this a lot, properly with ropes, helmets and harness but she wasn’t as experienced as me, who had been climbing since I was a little girl. She asked if I ever got nervous, I explained that a little fear is a good thing, it stops you being over confident and taking risks but I wasn’t afraid here as I had scrambled here before and knew how to get across them.

We had our lunch at the point where the track starts its descent down to the lake shore, at Dovestone Tor. This time we were sitting looking in the opposite direction along the Derwent Valley to the softer, more forgiving slopes of the White Peak. Ashopton Viaduct was quite stark against the blackess of the water and I recounted the tale of Mad Meg who had cursed the village of Ashopton over a century ago. (It is recalled elsewhere in the “Victoria’s Secret Journal”, somewhere.)

The problem with wearing other people’s shoes is that they mould themselves to the owner’s foot and on the descent Sally starting complaining of a hot spot on her heel. (We had told her what to watch out for.) I made her take the offending boot and sock off. I wiped the heel with an antiseptic wipe and applied a large piece of lintless plaster to the red area. It usually works a treat, so long as you apply it before the hot spot has become a proper blister. Luckily there were no more nasty slopes to negotiate so her heel shouldn’t have produced a blister. (This proved to be the case.)

We were sorely tempted by the appeal of the Ladybower Inn’s open and welcoming door but we had a concert to prepare for in the evening, so we resisted the temptation and wandered back through huge clumps of daffodils to the car at Cuthroat Bridge, now joined by seven other vehicles all left there in various states of abandonment and disarray.

At home we went in sequence through the shower. Letting Sally go first as our honoured guest. When we get back together we normally share a shower but we thought it best not to under the circumstances! Cheering cups of tea and a couple of homemade cherry scones steered us comfortably towards tea-time.

We had already explained we were off to the City Hall that evening to see the Halle Orchestra, Sal said she had never been to a Classical Concert and if there were any tickets available she’d like to come with us. A swift call to the box office informed her that there were some in the rear stalls and at the back of the Circle. None near our seats on the front row of the Circle. She decided to come anyway and took a rear Circle ticket.

The programme was as follows: BERLIOZ Overture: Le Carnaval romain; BEETHOVEN Piano Concerto No.3 and TCHAIKOVSKY Symphony No.6 “Pathétique”. I thought the Berlioz and Tchaikovsky would make a good introduction to the world of Real Music though the Beethoven may have been a steeper learning curve. 

To our surprise the seat two along from ours wasn’t taken so we waved frantically to Sally to come on down and sit in it. She did, and then the lovely people sitting in the two seats between us asked her if she wanted to sit next to her friends and they shuffled along so Sal could sit next to Laura. How nice was that?

Once again Mrs Briggs was in the bar at the interval. We knew she would be. We had a chat about the concert and she compared it once again to the Runrig of the previous week. Laura presented Sal to Mrs B and her partner and we had yet another conversation about the lack of women in Maths in general! She and I talked about what will be happening next week as I am at the Solicitors’ all week to work up some holiday time to go to Arran. We then had to explain to Sal all about my and my Dad’s purchase of a holiday home on the island, and how we were going there for a fortnight after “The Magic Flute” next Friday Night.

She asked how many things we had seen since the start of the academic year and Laura and I tried to remember them all – it is over thirty-five!

We all went on the last walk of the night with Callie pup and on sighting a live newt on the Onesacre road Sally was a little “squeally”, especially when I picked it up and showed it to her before putting the little chap into the long grass at the side of the road. I explained the Callie’s Newt Rescue Patrol and she became less squeamish, by the time of the third newt she was all in favour of our amphibian service. She even volunteered to move the next one. There weren’t any more, however.

Before she hit the charp she asked if there was swimming again tomorrow. I explained that the early session on a Sunday didn’t start until 9am and was therefore much busier than the week day one, so we didn’t bother with it. It was hard to tell if she was relieved or disappointed.

Sunday April 6^th.

I let the two maths students have a lie while I walked Callie on our usual route. As I suspected the one I love had risen and was busy pottering in the kitchen when I returned; Sally, however, was dead to the world. I had cereal for brekkers and asked Laura what she was doing. The answer was putting a pork joint in for our Sunday lunch. We tend to cook them slowly so they are falling apart when we carve them. I joined her in prepping the veggies and I mixed up the batter for a Yorkshire Pudding. We have recently started cooking them in the traditional way, ie in one large tin and serving it as a starter. It is brilliant. We’ll have to see how our guest likes this revived old method of dining.

Laura did say that Sal’s uncle was scheduled to arrive at about two pm and we could also offer him a bite to eat as well; having driven from Nuneaton won’t have taken long but if he was arriving at that time he’ll probably be skipping lunch. I thought it was an admirable idea.

Sally finally roused herself from the dark pit at about 10.30, a time I only see from my bed if I’m ill. (I didn’t tell her that.) She thought Uncle Dan would jump at the chance of a free meal, apparently he likes his food. Don’t we all when someone else has cooked it for you?

We had a lazy morning chilling out and chatting about our weekend. Sal thought we had it made and I have to agree, I think our lives in this little backwater are as cushy as hell. She had a text from Dan the man saying he had set off so we dragged all her gear down to the conservatory to make it easier to load into his car. We ran a book on how long it would take him to get here. I said 2 hours 10mins; Laura went for 2hrs 20mins and Sally plumped for 1hr 55mins. He actually took 2hours and 5 minutes so Yours Truly was the closest although I guess Sally knows her uncle best as he moaned about losing a good quarter of an hour through roadworks on the M1 near Mansfield. He would even have beaten her guess without that delay.

Remember I mentioned the guy at the Multispectral analysis lab being a bit Hunky? Well, Uncle Daniel was built in the same mould! He is a Doctor but unlike his sister, his is a PhD rather than Bachelor of Medicine. He works for an insurance company on risk analysis.

He certainly wasn’t bothered about the risk of eating food a complete stranger (or pair of strangers) had cooked. He wolfed his dinner down as though he hadn’t eaten for a week. Sally teased him that he was so forgetful he probably hadn’t eaten for a week! We had prepared a scale model of the ridge we walked yesterday in our amount of veggies but he managed to wolf his own piled plate and then proceeded to clear up the serving bowls of the remnants too. It was a good job I had spooned a few of everything into Callie’s bowl as a precaution because she’d have no roast dinner! We portioned out the meat and left the rest in the oven so there was no way he would eat our Monday and Tuesday sandwich filling as well, even if he had ruined the idea of bubble and squeak for Monday night. That was just luck, though, not judgement.

After the meal we sat and chatted properly in the lounge and he asked what we had done with his niece to keep her amused yesterday. We told him we’d taken us fell walking with us and he nearly choked on his coffee. He was amazed we had been able to get her anywhere that didn’t have a shop in sight! She told him where we’d been and he amazed us for a second time by telling everyone that our walk was featured in yesterday’s Times Weekend Section. Being sceptical I went to fetch it. I hadn’t looked at the papers at all from yesterday, which is something we tend to do on a languid Sunday afternoon.

Sure enough there was our bloody walk, in one of their twenty best walks for Easter. I am going to have to complain, they keep writing up my favourite walks! They will all be over-run with grockles before long, and spoiled. Daniel thought my annoyance was feigned but I had to disabuse him of that notion. It really does make me cross when hitherto little known gems of the countryside get splashed across the pages of newspapers so that every Hoorah Henry for miles around can swan along it claiming he’d known about it for ages and ages. [The ages and ages, in this case, being the time it had taken him to get round to reading the Times Weekend Section. Grrr!]

Baggage stowed in Dan’s old looking Ford we waved goodbye to our unexpected guest and her even more unexpected Uncle and went back in for a long awaited snog and some delicious hanky panky. 

There is nothing like self-imposed restraint to make the longed for item taste even sweeter!