Today took quite a bit of organising, what with the limited direct bus service to Buxton from Sheffield, but additional options going via Baslow or Bakewell to contend with, the hilly terrain of Buxton itself, visits to the toilet, managing Justin's limited mobility, dodging the Festival crowds, and always bearing in mind that I'm not Justin's carer or support worker.
We got off the bus at the Market Place, at the top of the hill. Justin had heard about a bookshop in the vicinity and so we quickly found it and investigated whether it was promising or not. I think Justin wanted to linger a while...but he also wanted his dinner and then to move on to the Book Fair down at the Pavilion Gardens.
There must be six or eight pubs in the Market Place, yet none of them appeared to be open, or serving food, so we had fish and chips in an overpriced restaurant. I didn't want to go down the hill into the main part of the town because it was busy and we might have had difficulty finding somewhere suitable. We were here for Justin to visit the Book Fair...not to spend a lot of time looking for somewhere to eat.
We were served, and finished our meal quite quickly and then made straight for the Pavilion Gardens complex. Justin was very disappointed to discover that the Book Fair was being held in a quite small marquee. We made plans for him to phone me up a few minutes before he'd seen everything; I thought this would give me maybe an hour to have a look around on my own. It was barely twenty minutes until the phone rang though; I managed to have a short walk in the Pavilion Gardens outside, pop into the Museum [most of which was closed] and have a short conversation with Laurel and Hardy on my way to meet up with Justin.
This is the only photograph I'm including today. I didn't take that many, I had other things on my mind...one of the main things was making sure that Justin didn't accidentally stumble into a performance being giving by the Morris dancers, or clog dancers. They were everywhere....unfortunately so was Justin if I didn't keep an eye on him.
We bought ice creams, Justin bought a Derbyshire Wayfarer ticket from the Tourist Information Office and then we went in all of the charity shops situated along the pedestrianised precinct. We were both a bit tired, and Justin was thirsty, so we had soft drinks in a pub which seemed to be frequented by the locals. The most striking thing was the sign above the bar 'No F*cking Barracking. No F*cking Fighting. No Dad Dancing.'..Oh....and there was dog that was nearly as big as Justin.
We had to spend nearly an hour in another pub until our bus was due. I enjoyed watching the cricket...Justin ate a packet of crisps.
The bus we caught was the number 66 going to Chesterfield; so we had to get off at Baslow and wait for the 218 back to Sheffield. According to the timetable we had twenty minutes to wait for the next bus; plenty of time for me to go for a pee and for Justin to get something from the shop. I'd just left the toilet block when I noticed the 218 approaching - it was the earlier service which was by now over ten minutes late. At the top of my voice I shouted, "JUSTIN!!! THE BUS."
He heard me and rushed out of the shop, so did the old man who went to the toilets at the same time as me...he was busily struggling to fasten his zip as he crossed the road.
Job done.
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