Castleton, Slackhall, and Chapel-en-le-Frith

I rushed to get ready this morning so that I could catch the 07:45 bus from Sheffield to Castleton; I arrived at the village for nine o'clock hoping to get some good shots with a low sun.

I walked to the west, heading for Winnats Pass; I don't think I've ever walked up the pass previously but I've hurried down it several times, rushing to catch the bus.

I continued up on to Rushup Edge.

A short stretch of road was next and then a footpath which was marked as a track on the map, going down to Slackhall, from where it was only about a mile and a half to Chapel -  I didn't realise it was actually so close to Castleton.

Chapel-en-le-Frith is a dump; as far as I could tell it has no redeeming features, it doesn't even seem to have a proper town centre. I only spent about fifteen minutes in the place before catching the first bus to Buxton, from where I made my way back to Sheffield, via Bakewell, and then home to Doncaster on the train.

I had time to take some photos in Buxton but many of my angles were ruined by the hoardings and scaffolding that seems to be everywhere at the moment.

As the bus from Bakewell was travelling into Sheffield a young woman got on with a hockey stick protruding from a shopping trolley. She lifted up the trolley and placed it in the luggage stowage area next to the doors. At the next stop some more passengers got on but then the doors wouldn't close properly because the hockey stick had slipped and become wedged in the doors' opening mechanism; the driver couldn't continue because there's a safety override. So, he had to leave his cab and attempt to free the hockey stick by pulling it, pushing it, twisting it, and then trying to prise the doors open. The young woman rushed down from the back of the bus and tried to help him, but actually made things worse by doing exactly the opposite of everything he was attempting to do. After  few seconds the driver had had enough and pulled at the doors with everything he had; he was quite small and getting on a bit so it probably wasn't a lot but it was enough for the door to suddenly come unstuck, springing forward and slapping him on his shiny bald forehead. It was so funny, literally slapstick comedy; the driver said he was alright, but I think he was quite shook up by the experience. All that was needed to completely set the scene would have been a ragtime tune being banged out on a piano.