As you will note from my last blog, I didn’t “hit the hay” until just after 1am. Going to bed late never guarantees a jolly good lie-in the following morning. My intention was to walk from home over the now familiar route which takes me along the dismantled freight line which used to run (from the mid 1890s) to Ladmanlow. From there to Whaley Bridge had been discontinued when the more efficient route between Whaley Bridge, Buxton (still open as part of the local line to Manchester) and Parsley Hay had been established as a through route to Ashbourne, which, according to my contemporary booklet was “intended to be open on 1st August 1899.
Instead, I chose to walk to Higher Buxton Post Office where I would pay in a modest Premium Bond win. Like all Bond holders, I hope for “the big one!” I treated myself to Derbyshire Oatcakes at the Tradesman’s Entrance before making my way home…on the ‘bus! The weather was still equatorial and walking home was more punishing than pleasure.
Day 174
Wednesday saw an end to that snippet of an Indian summer. The sky was grey and the inclination to walk, gone completely. A cold breeze blew away any incentive I might have had to go walking for a third consecutive day. I chilled out at home, catching up on any outstanding housework. The day before, I had the hall, stairs and landing carpet cleaned. It now looks as if it has just been laid.
Day 175
Yesterday was much better, and feeling rejuvenated after a decent sleep, I did walk over the route I intended to on Tuesday. It seemed to go quickly. I arrived home in time to prepare a salad lunch, and enjoy the rest of the day. Annoyingly, painful discomfort manifested itself in my lower jaw, right hand side.
Day 176 Friday 12th September.
The tooth-ache “wasn’t for turning”, as I realised that I had no option but to ring the Dentist. In less than two hours, I was picking up a prescription for appropriate antibiotics at the pharmacy. I have had this same medication previously; I hope it’s just as effective.
Auntie Stella who died recently, was cremated today at Weymouth Crematorium. My cousin, Peter, had sent me a “link” so that I could “attend” the ceremony, on line. I felt as if some future century had arrived prematurely, as only immediate family were allowed to attend, all wearing face-masks. When the pandemic is no more, perhaps we could all attend a memorial service. Auntie Stella was the last of that generation of our family.
I will write more when the tooth-ache has eased up a little.
Thanks for reading,
David.13.53hrs 18/9/20.
David's Cruise 