I caught the Reading train to travel to Sheffield this morning as I quite often do; there was no room for reading or for doing anything else though today. It was crowded, as it always is at this time, but was especially crowded today - I was tightly wedged in the space near one set of doors, together with another seven passengers. There wasn't enough room for me to take off my rucksack without poking out several people's eyes...even if I could find any room on the floor to put it. As the train moved I had to steady myself by holding on to one of the internal doors, pushing up against it with the palm of my hand, unfortunately it looked like I was some old pervert making a move on the young girl standing right next to me. She understood the situation though and never said a word; I suppose it was better than me keep bumping into her.
It was very hot on the bus travelling from Sheffield to the Peak District, but not quite so hot when I got off at Edensor; it was mild all day though. I took a few photos in the village; each of the houses is built to a different design - it's an interesting story.
In many villages in the Peak District local residents put out tables at the side of the road, selling local produce which people purchase by means of an honesty box. Someone was selling parkin, fudge, and jam this morning.
I walked through the village, then up a lane and along a country road. A few minutes later I was startled by heavy gunfire, several volleys of it coming from not too far ahead of me. As I'd assumed, it was a shooting party; I took a photo of the temporary notice that had been hung on a tree; luckily I wasn't heading that way today.
The next section of the walk was downhill along a rocky track that had turned into a fast flowing stream due to the recent rainfall. There were some nice views looking down towards Bakewell, but Bakewell didn't photograph well today in the mist - this tree did though.
Just before reaching the road which I needed to walk along for a few yards before climbing down to reach the Monsal Trail, I stumbled on some loose rocks and fell. I know how to fall properly so as to minimise any potential injury and so the only consequences were a ruined pair of trousers and a a bit of grazing and a couple of small cuts on my left knee...and most likely some juicy bruises showing up tomorrow.
I stopped to eat my sandwiches at one of the picnic tables just before reaching the old station at Hassop and called at the café to finish off with tea and cake; and to inspect the damage to my knee, and clean up the wound a bit in the toilet.
I continued along the Monsal Trail for a while and then crossed the fields to reach Longreave Lane at Great Longstone. I then walked up to the junction with the road that goes to Hassop and had a decision to make. Should I continue with my planned walk taking in Rowland and Pilsley, or should I take the quickest possible route back to Baslow? Although my knee was fine I didn't want to fall again and possibly re-open the wound and introduce an infection, and so I decided on the latter option...additionally, the sooner I got back to Doncaster, the more likely the NHS walk-in medical centre near to the railway station would still be open, and I'd be able to get my knee looked at; just a quick cleaning up of the damage with some antiseptic.
I was hoping to get to Baslow to catch the 13:40 bus: I saw it passing through the village as I was only a couple of fields short. I had nearly an hour to wait for the next one and so popped in to the Café on the Green for a mug of tea and some shortbread. It was possibly the best shortbread I've ever eaten; buttery and quite moist...absolutely delicious. I told the proprietress and she told me that it was home baked...by her. I always compliment people on good service or a nice meal; I also complain a lot though when I'm not satisfied.
Back home in Doncaster, I walked past the Flying Scotsman Clinic, as it's known. It was still open and so I went in. I was informed that it's not actually a walk-in medical centre - the nearest one of those is in Rotherham.
When I got home I smeared some antiseptic cream on my knee, and threw away the ripped trousers.