Author: davidscruise

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Tuesday 20th July 2021, 08.30, just getting out of bed!

Last night, after more or less a “day to myself”,  my friend from The Festival contacted me to join him and two others for drinks at No. 6, the tea rooms in The Square. We occupied a table outside on the pavement (sidewalk) but still protected from any inclement weather.  I had enjoyed a leisurely lunch at The Royal Oak and was thus not particularly hungry.  These days, I do not drink anything other than water, tea and coffee.  Soft drinks screw up my diabetes condition, and alcohol messes up my liver and can bring on depression!   These days, I’m quite a “happy chappy!”  Annoyingly, deserts other than fruit salad are “out”…..even ice cream.  Nevertheless, life remains reasonable.

I wasn’t expecting to attend a concert given by the B.B.C. Philharmonic Orchestra last night.  The programme struck me as (possibly) somewhat light-weight.  Nevertheless, something (or someone!) caused me to have second thoughts.  This may well have been the first post-lockdown symphony concert anywhere in the U.K. where, at the insistence of the musicians, lock-down restrictions were retained.  I thought that my seat to one side of Buxton’s Octagon at the Pavilion Gardens would have been not very good.  And while any speeches were inaudible from where I was seated, the music acoustics were perfect.  And it was thrilling to hear once again, a symphony orchestra in “full flow.”  The Octagon in the Pavilion Gardens is a superb venue for large scale classical concerts, the acoustics excellent from all parts (but not for speech!) Annoyingly, l left my phone at home so was unable, therefore, to take, surreptitiously, any photographs.

Wednesday 21st July

And the programme for the concert, now two days ago was well chosen, with, surprisingly, very little familiar to me.  The concert opened with Overture to The Anonymous Lover, a work in three movements by Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint Georges (1745 – 1799). 

Tokyo born violinist Karen Gomyo joined the B.B.C. Philharmonic, under Ben German, for a spellbinding performance of the Max Bruch Violin Concerto.  My flagging spirits were, by this time, lifting to familiar heights.

The interval gave me just enough time to walk to the car to ascertain whether I had left my phone in there.  I hadn’t!  There was also a precautionary trip to the loo, and being a sultry night, time to acquire a swig of water.

Presumably, the violinist was well on her way to distant lands by the time part two of the concert opened with Malcolm Arnold’s Sinfonietta No.3, Op. 31, an interesting more challenging (to listen to) work in four movements.

The acoustics were just right for Haydn’s Symphony No. 103, “The Drumroll”, also in four movements.  I don’t recall ever having heard this penultimate symphony.  Only the finale to the Max Bruch Violin Concerto was familiar.  The joy of being at what may well have been the U.K.s first post-covid public symphony concert matched that of the Halle concerts I would attend from around nine years of age to my early twenties.

Although not credited in this year’s Festival programme book, for the first time since 2016, I joined the numerous volunteers in my previous role as “Festival Driver”.  This involved ferrying various literary speakers to and from Macclesfield, where they had arrived from either London, or places usually south of Watford Junction.  They, too, were all making their first public appearances since the U.K. went into lock-down in March last year.  Each speaker was an absolute pleasure to meet, or take to his or her train.  There are several of us who volunteer to “chauffeur” these writers; all with professional enthusiasm.  If my travel plans do come to fruition next year, I shall only be around for the last few days of The Festival in 2022. 

Yesterday, I attended a concert at St. John’s exclusively for members of the Friends of Buxton International Festival, provided by various artistes from the operas being staged. Again, this was an absolute pleasure as renditions of arias from well known as well as lesser well known works were performed.

Today, I attended an interview at which the interviewee was Andrew Marr, in conversation with Gerry Northam.                        

The weather remains unnaturally warm with high humidity. A welcome breeze has sprung up, but what might have been an hour or two sunning myself in the back garden, I chose to recharge my “flagging batteries” in my darkened bedroom.  Later in the afternoon, around fifty Friends of the Festival gathered outside The Crescent for the annual Friends’ Dinner, for the first time in the magnificenty restored Assembly Rooms. 

The dinner was a most enjoyable and convivial occasion.  My request for alternative food was taken care of, but I was unconvinced that the “diabetic” cheese cake was a suitable dessert. I had requested fruit salad, and will insist on this at the Festival Weekend Dinner in October.  As I have said before with great enthusiasm, the hotel restoration is magnificent, the rooms superb.  But I have yet to see the presence of established management commensurate with a five star rating.  However, I do accept the unknown effects of the continued pandemic.  I rather think that staying at the Royal York Hotel in Toronto (and in York, England) may have spoiled me somewhat.

Rarely do the warm nights of summer keep me awake. This week, I have been kept awake for much of the night on three occasions. I rather hope that tonight, I “sleep for England.” 

Many thanks for reading, David,  22.33hrs, 21/7/21.

Writing on a very hot day, at the Royal Oak at Hurdlow. 13.55hrs.

As ever, The Royal Oak is busy, but also, as ever, I was accommodated immediately on unannounced arrival.  My wonderful house keepers had arrived half an hour early this afternoon, prompting exile either to Roger’s,  or somewhere to eat. 

Weather-wise, we are enjoying almost equatorial climes with outdoor conditions not dissimilar to those of Singapore. Temperatures are nudging the 30s Centigrade with humidity around 70%. 

For the first time today, it’s not a problem if I leave my mask at home (which I did, not for the first time).  My Carnival shares are at their lowest level, continuing an unexpected decline since sometime in June when I was rather delighted with my investment of last year.  One suggestion for this is the world-wide proliferation of the highly contagious Johnson (sorry, Delta) variant of the coronavirus virus. Things therefore do not bode well for my fanciful travel plans for May – July next year.  The up-side of yet further international travel disruption is the possibility that I could make the Tokyo, Alaska and New York itinerary, sometime later, westbound which is, by far, preferable. And, I would not miss the first week of the 2022 Buxton International Festival.

That brings me very nicely to yesterday!

The heat of the previous day (Saturday) showed no signs of abating, with record temperatures predicted. However, unlike Saturday, it was not too hot to walk, both to Church in the morning, and for a stroll in wildest Chelmorton after a suitable lunch at the relocated eatery, “53 Degrees”.  Once on the uncomfortably steep Hall Bank, the restaurant now occupies larger and more suitable premises with attractive views of the rear of The Crescent, just moments from the Opera House. 

The Eucharist, yesterday, was set to the music of Mozart, again with minimal musicians and singers.  However, this was so well performed that more players and a larger choir was not necessarily needed.  Michael Williams continues, despite lockdowns and pandemic related restrictions, to produce wonderful and worthwhile music. As usual, I enjoyed coffee with a church colleague as is the case most weeks.  Lunch with Roger normally follows, and then an afternoon exploration of the never-endingly gorgeous local countryside. Despite temperatures in the high twenties, I did feel like walking after lunch, having already walked to Church.  Once again, Roger had located an almost invisible path to explore, through neck-high undergrowth! I was prompted to photograph bales of hay in an adjacent field.  This old fashioned method of baling hay is rarely seen these days, as now, single use plastic is used to gather the hay in large cylindrical bundles.

In the evening, I had a ticket for Handel’s Acis and Galatea at the Buxton Festival. My seat was in the Upper Gallery (the gods) and was remarkably good. Despite social distancing, I was seated behind a couple, he being the size I was once was and necessitating my having to strain to obtain the clear view I would normally have enjoyed. Although nothing was said, I suspect he was equally irritated by how close I was seated behind.  In the second half, I moved further along my row to a seat, which although offered that uninterrupted view, was in need of repair, and I had to remain remarkably still!   That actually was no problem. However, it was almost impossible to focus on the now distant side titles, which changed and faded far too frequently to be able to follow.

Whether I was fatigued from the day’s walking, or something else, I was not overly impressed with the opera.  Even now, producers think it clever to set operas written centuries ago to within living memory.  According to what resembled a Power Point screen on stage, at the back, the opera takes place in 1962! Yes, I should have read the notes in the Programme Book, and been like everybody else and watched the discussion of the Opera on Zoom.  I probably would have still attended albeit with more jaundiced expectations.  I didn’t begrudge the £25 ticket price; it seemed like pretty good value considering the full view of the stage, even from so high up.  But, I would have been annoyed at shelling out £78 for a seat in the Dress Circle!  I came out at the end, having seen yet another Handel opera “teleported”  to almost the present day.  I drove home with the roof down, too weary to view what would have been a stunning sunset from opposite The Cat and Fiddle, five miles away.

So, that was the last day of “governmental lockdown.”  Today feels no different.  I live in hopes that our new-found freedom is at no real expense; but I take after my father, the eternal pessimist! (He was good fun for very much of the time).

Many thanks for reading; this brings the curtain down on 478 days of covid restrictions. The best is yet to come!

David 15.36, The Royal Oak, Hurdlow, 19/7/21.

I think it was sometime in the late 1970s that I was last in the Assembly Rooms in what was, and now is again, The Crescent Hotel, Buxton.  Except that, by the time I was there, it was the Local Library and you could borrow recorded music as well as books.  This part of the Crescent Hotel has, along with the rest of the building, been restored magnificently, to the highest degree.  As I have said previously, the restoration of The Crescent has been worth the wait. 

DAY 477 Saturday 17th July

This morning, I had the privilege (and pleasure) of driving yesterday’s speaker at The Crescent, whom I had difficulty hearing because of the acoustics of the Assembly Rooms, to Macclesfield for her train journey to mid-Wales. I was assured the usual route was now open; it wasn’t and a six mile diversion in fairly heavy traffic caused her to miss her planned train, just by a mere two minutes. The belief that U.K trains are always late is a fallacy; they are sometimes, but not when you want them to be! However, a service via Shrewsbury was an almost immediate alternative, but involving a couple more changes of train.

Driving back, traffic to Buxton was still diverted from Macclesfield Town Centre, and I, therefore, chose the opportunity to revisit (or merely drive past) the haunts of a previous life. The girl I met at a concert in Manchester in 1968 will be 69 now! Oh how I recall (with minimal regret now) a slight but attractive figure, in a turquoise summer dress, with chestnut hair flowing in abundance over her shoulders. I recall numerous visits to the elevated bungalow where she grew up, with magnificent views of a nearby wooded escarpment. Very occasionally, and only when the opportunity presents itself, I do like to revisit this still wonderful and almost haunting part of the Country. The trouble is, so does everybody else these days. There was nowhere to park at Rudyard Lake!

Soon, I was on my way back to Buxton and having lunch with a friend and colleague with The Festival whom I have now known for almost thirty years.

Eventually, I returned home, feeling guilty that I had not watered the hanging baskets and flower planters in the back garden. This I shall do in the cool of tonight. I still have a half-full (not half empty!) waterbutt of actual rainwater which I trust my withered plants will appreciate.

Tomorrow is the last day of (most) covid/pandemic restrictions. From Monday, hugging each other, and shaking hands will be “legal”. Recently, I read a dire account of God’s displeasure in the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (Ch. 24), and the catastrophies which occurred back to back, between 740 and 680 B.C. All good stuff, but with an alarming ring of similarity with today…whoops! Don’t worry ‘though, I am assured all this is contextual.

Tomorrow, Day 478 will mark the end of numbering the days since March 27th 2020, the day I travelled home from Southampton along eerily quiet roads and motorways to a deserted Buxton, engulfed in the first of (I think) three lockdowns, when I couldn’t even get a haircut! In some ways, 478 days doesn’t seem a long time; in other ways, an eternity. I detect little optimism from Monday. The Festival has another week to run, and is bathed probably in some of the best weather ever. Maybe I wrote too soon!

I realise that I am probably a “fairweather” walker and that it doesn’t take much to postpone a planned hike. However, right now, it really is too hot! I had planned to walk on Thursday, but felt too “drained.” If not too warm in the morning, I shall walk to Church, for a Festival Mass, where the Eucharist is set to works by various composers. Even with restricted numbers of singers and players, these Church services are always very special and worth attending in their own right. With strict social distancing, the church will still feel full tomorrow.

Many thanks for reading, David, 17.24 hrs 17th July 2021 A.D…

I am a little disappointed,  but not “gutted” that England did not bring home the European Cup on Sunday.  Somebody had to lose. That right to the very end, the result was so very close, is cause for deserved celebration.

Today is day 5 of the Buxton Festival, and so far, I have attended two splendid productions at the Opera House, a phenomenal piano recital at St. John’s,  and a thought provoking discussion at the Pavilion Arts Centre roughly about “who owns England.”  Psychologically, the return of Buxton Festival in what feels like its usual format, has been and is still, hugely beneficial. However, I must not “let my guard down” too much.  What has now been dubbed The Johnson Variant is still out there, thinking “it must be Christmas” considering the crowd gathering events encouraged all around us.

Wednesday 14th July

From Monday 19th July, mere days away, the responsibility for pandemic restrictions transfers to the public from Government.  As such, while highly advisable to socially distance and wear masks as before, this becomes the choice of the general public, meaning, when another wave of the coronavirus pandemic sweeps the Nation, responsibility falls not to our revered leaders, but to us.  I will be reluctant to attend church or the theatre, just because the virus hasn’t gone away. And it probably won’t do for a while. As far as it is concerned, every day is “Christmas.”

I do welcome not being in fear of criminal prosecution for failing to comply with some ambiguous legislation.

The Festival, and a “half-decent” summer has lifted the ambience of the town to a vibrant holiday atmosphere. As one person who I greeted and met at Macclesfield station remarked “it always rains when I’m in Buxton.” Perhaps it is this holiday atmosphere which sort of prompted me to book two nights at the Crescent Hotel where much of the Buxton Festival Weekend takes place in October. This will have to be a rare luxury now that this new hotel is established and its tariff more “confident.” There is no doubt that this is a destination hotel and staying there is an extravagant treat, considering home is just two miles away! At least breakfast is included in the cost, which back in the 1950s might have bought me a small house! (The joys of being over 70!)

Talking to a couple attending last night’s opera, I was reminded of the music luminaries of my childhood. When the “household-name” Sir Thomas Beecham (who I do remember) was asked his opinion of the avant-garde composer Stockhausen, he merely grunted that he knew not of his music, except that he stepped in it once! Vaughan Williams was less acerbic, but his music haunts me to this day. Conductor, Sir Malcolm Sargent survived to my late teens. In 1963, I attended the Proms at which Sir William Walton’s Belshazzar’s Feast was performed with “unlimited artistic licence.” Sixty eight years later, that music still rings in my grateful ears…even ‘though I have heard the work many times since. Such memories are probably valuable to me only. I do not regret that memories are all they are, but instead, derive enormous pleasure from looking back, just occasionally.

But, I am in the fortunate situation where I am looking forward to more exciting events, pandemic permitting. My misgivings about circumnavigating the world eastbound are subsiding as I contemplate my first (and probably only) visit to Japan next year. This morphs into several days returning to the gorgeous Inside Passage of Alaska, down from Anchorage to Vancouver, back up again, (but not as far as Anchorage), and returning to Vancouver. I travel, then, independently to New York, losing an hour with each time zone crossed. Seemingly, U.S. long distance trains are undergoing a complete refurbishment in all classes. Surely just one of the trains I plan on riding will have refurbished stock in its consist. Amtrak celebrates 50 years (1/5/71). Ye gods! I was riding U.S. trains (as a 22 year-old) in May 1971. That was a 16 day tour; next year, I have 24 days to wander across North America any way I choose, before returning to the U.K., by ocean liner, as on numerous other memorable occasions…pandemic permitting!

Many thanks for reading; I do hope my memories are not too tedious! David, 16.12 hrs, The Parks Inn, Harpur Hill, where I enjoyed a Cajun Chicken dish.

Buxton Opera House reopened last night, perhaps in a similar way to its reopening in 1979, although that was after a spectacular and detailed restoration; this year, the reopening followed the catastrophic effects of the coronavirus pandemic. While I wasn’t at the historic First Night in 1979 (I was “DJ-ing” at the Club House opposite the Opera House), I was given a ticket stub for that first night. I thought it might be appropriate to put yesterday’s opening tickets together with that of July 30th 1979, the year I became qualified to drive trains, the year I turned 30!

Thanks for reading, David, 10.29hrs 9/7/21

In the first paragraph, “no” should read “know”. I cannot believe that was a mistake on my part!

I may have to start watching my blood pressure. Around four weeks ago, I was advised to purchase a machine for checking the same. And, so far, apart from one momentary spell at 151 over “something”, I have been well within the limits suggested in the accompanying booklet. Now-then, my interest in football is less than my fascination with nuclear physics, and I know nothing about either, save from one or two rules about football that I recall from primary school days. But, last night, even I became somewhat caught up in the excitement of England’s match against Denmark in what I understand is the European Cup. I am a little confused; the commentators kept referring to 1966. I always thought that was the World Cup, whose interest by me was similarly eclipsed by the impending end of steam on British Rail, a certain Danish blonde who will now be 72, and leaving school; all too much for an impressionable seventeen year-old! I do remember something about the World Cup, and that sometime later, the Cup itself got “nicked”.

That year, I took the Danish blonde to see Bob Dylan during his U.K. tour at which his backing band was introduced to a disapproving public. Actually, the band was superb, and apart from minor heckling when they came on for “part two” (part one was a traditional acoustic set with just guitar and mouth organ and, of course, Bob Dylan), I do not remember much protest as the Band accompanied Dylan in magnificent fashion. His anthem “Like a Rolling Stone” went on forever, rather like a live performance of Sultans of Swing from Dire Straits!

Back to last night’s Semi Finals. Despite my disinterest in football, while watching the last twenty minutes before extra time, I could have sworn that my blood pressure went into the “200s!”

Although continuing to exercise great care and not take unnecessary risks, I was very pleased indeed to be encouraged to attend a dress rehearsal of “A Little Night Music” which I didn’t think I was going to enjoy. What was significant to me was this would be the first occasion that invited members of the public would be able to attend an event at the Buxton Opera House. I was pleasantly surprised. I felt that the production was beyond “London/New York standard” and I rather hoped a ticket might become available for the Festival’s opening night. Although no longer on any Festival committee (2017’s heart attack put paid to any desire to be involved in anything), I am rather pleased to be doing a little bit of driving visiting speakers to and from Macclesfield railway station.

At the very last moment, a ticket did become available for the opening night, and I enjoyed a second performance of A Little Night Music. By now, I had a reasonable idea of the storyline and was thus able to appreciate the musical far better, a second time around. Before that “main event”, I was encouraged to join Festival-goers for drinks on an elevated terrace in The Square. It had become a gorgeous summer’s night. I detected a trace of emotion from one or two who had really missed going to the theatre for over 16 months. It’s rather strange. I, too miss, not so much the theatre, but live concerts from the likes of Steeleye Span, as well as a good symphony concert. But, returning to Buxton Opera House this afternoon and tonight did remind of the pleasures I had been missing since the onset of the pandemic.

The theatre was very comfortable and spacious, owing to the continued covid restrictions. Despite the resultant “thin” audience (although this and all other performances at the Opera House were sold out long ago), tonight’s performance was received with deserved rapturous appreciation.

Many thanks for reading, David, 9th July, 2021, 0024 hrs.

Friday 2nd July, on the site of Hartington Railway Station.

It is more less taken for granted that, despite no apparent let up in the spread of the Delta variant of coronavirus, we should be coming out of lock-down, a fortnight on Monday.  Our hugely respected Minister for Health, who had guided “his” people through the pandemic since its beginnings in early 2020, last week, was caught on camera with his trousers not quite down, violating his own rules, and generating, justly, the wrath and indignation of just about everybody, and causing his “understanding” gaffer yet another uncomfortable battering at last Wednesday’s PMQs.  I’m sure the now non-religious Sir Keir was rather pleased with this unexpected gift from God! 

Far away from all this (of which, actually, I know next to nothing), I am, for the second time this month, enjoying the legacy of the London and North Western, whose railway, back in the day, wended its wonderful way through the magnificent countryside of the Derbyshire Dales. While I always lament that the line from Ashbourne to Buxton was dismantled over fifty years ago, had trains still been running, these wonderful walks would not be available to the many more who come now than travelled then. 

Summer might have been slow to come, but June, and now, the first two days of July have, generally, been extremely nice.  I am now about half way back to Parsley Hay, seated on a wooden bench placed opposite an abundance of open countryside, in memory of Ray Reading, 1949 – 2003.  I, too, was born in 1949...

Yesterday, I arranged my travel insurance for next year’s journey taking in Japan, and a sizeable chunk of the United States, zig-zagging cross the Continent on Mr Biden’s beloved Amtrak. The twenty four days I will have to travel from Vancouver to New York will pass quickly,  as my home for several of those days will be (hopefully) a bedroom on numerous overnight trains.  I am back at Parsley Hay now.  It was a little crowded,  but the walkers and cyclists in the main have gone on their way.  Yesterday, I was warned that the weather would change today; it didn’t. I’m now reliably informed that tomorrow is going to be wet.  It is humid today, and perhaps a good thunderstorm might clear the air. But I like it as it is.  The bacon and sausage bap I enjoyed at Parsley Hay will deputise for lunch; a sardine salad being tonight’s evening meal, in the hopes I can ascertain that I’m not allergic to all fish.  Recently, I have felt slightly ill after eating fish, which is a great pity. 

Sunday 4th July 181st Anniversary of the Cunard Line first voyage from Liverpool to Halifax Nova Scotia and Boston, Mass. U.S.A.

Ye Gods! Is it really six years since the Cunard 175 celebrations of 2015? There was to be some kind of marking of the 180th anniversary last year, but, the pandemic put paid to any celebration or event, including the Tokyo Olympics. With robust determination, both the postponed Olympics and Buxton International Festival are going ahead this year; Buxton Festival opening on Thursday with a gala performance of A Little Night Music.

Monday 5th July. How things change! I cannot see Malcolm Fraser or Anthony Hose being particularly impressed by the offerings of this year’s opening night. I, myself, am not really a fan of musicals, and I don’t really relish the thought of sitting in a “socially distanced” opera house, while the pandemic persists. I may think differently after July 8th, the Buxton International Festival’s opening night.

Lunch with Roger, yesterday, at the 53 Degrees North eatery was followed (reluctantly) by a walk along part of the High Peak Trail. Clouds of dark grey threatened an imminent downpour, but any substantial drenching would have occurred later in the day; I did get drenched visiting an elderly friend in Buxton in the evening. I came home at around 10 o’clock and after trawling various YouTube channels, went to bed shortly after midnight. Today, I had (and enjoyed) coffee at the Pavilion Gardens with a church colleague. Past times were recalled with some “mixed feelings”. Part of me laments the less traditional direction the Anglican Church might be going, rather like the speedy transition from steam to diesel and electric traction on the railways in the 1960s. Only in 1973 when my footplate career began, was I rather thankful! The Last Steam Train ran on August 11th, 1968. I was there, and a rare surviving poster graces my landing!

My quest to walk 3 million steps between June 1st and May 31st next year is already behind schedule. I took it easy in June, but at the beginning of July, I resumed in earnest, and the target remains just within reach. Eventually, this will become a “raising effort”. And, my blogs will be headed with an incomprehensible series of numbers, as previously!

Our revered prime minister is scheduled to speak to the Nation this afternoon to confirm or otherwise our exit from this present lock-down in a fortnight. My blogs will no longer be headed by day-numbers, and with luck, the next “Day 1” will signify the start of next year’s World tour by plane, ship, and numerous trains. That’s assuming I have dodged the “Delta bullet”, and any departure is not “from this life!” Even today, life feels as if it has returned (almost) to normal. But, each day, covid death numbers are announced in a matter of fact manner…just imagine if these deaths occurred in high rises or air disasters, with similar regularity. As they say in church, there would be “hell-up!”

Many thanks for reading, David, The Tradesman’s Entrance, Monday 5th July 2021.

This afternoon (Wednesday) sees me “chilling out” on a park bench in Buxton’s Pavilion Gardens shortly after 5. 10, as even just past midsummer’s day, there remains a feeling that the day is drawing to a close.  It’s  not cool enough to require long-sleeved attire; actually, the weather is nigh-on perfect.

The Old Hall Hotel, later in the evening.

I was reminded, earlier today, that next year sees the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee, and now realise that if my travels come to fruition in 2022, I will be out of the Country when this historic and unlikely-to-be-repeated event takes place in June.  (I suppose it’s just possible in the next thousand years or so, that a monarch could reign for over seventy years!)  At first, I was rather annoyed with myself for arranging to be out of the Country at this very special time. Then, I remembered exactly where I shall be if travel restrictions to North America are lifted….on board Cunard’s Queen Elizabeth! I was on board R.M.S Queen Mary 2 at the time of the Diamond Jubilee in 2012.  On that occasion, Cunard had put together what they announced was the greatest party in the Country.  It would be hard to beat a gathering of the entire Cunard Fleet of albeit just three passenger ships.  There are no such plans for 2022, and I wonder if Cunard have yet cottoned on to what will very likely be the “event of the century”.  I say that because I remember the Silver Jubilee as if it were perhaps five years ago! I was 28 in 1977, and will be 73 next year, perish the thought!

Isn’t it wonderful being able to do as I please with no commitments or obligations. I just didn’t feel like preparing food for tonight’s supper, and chose to go into Buxton. My first choice Lone Star was fully booked. One can usually get in at the Old Hall, and its main restaurant is particularly attractive with its fresh linen table cloths, fine cutlery and sparkling glassware.

When Buxton International Festival (unfortunately marketed as BIF) gets underway, it will be difficult to enjoy a quiet meal. Tonight, I was one of just three in the main dining room. Nevertheless, the droaning of an elderly Welshman holding forth to two equally elderly women at the other end of the restaurant was more irritating than a near-by road drill. It was tonight, trying to write this blog, that I realised that I couldn’t do exactly as I pleased!

I remain a huge fan of the Crescent Hotel, to which the Old Hall is now attached as a business as well as architecturally. It is such a great pity that the pandemic prevented what might have been one of the grandest of re-openings. As previously written back in October, I did stay at The Crescent on its opening night and there was that “maiden voyage” sense of occasion at the time.

Earlier, I wrote not long after 5pm, while relaxing in the Pavilion Gardens, that it seemed as if the day was drawing to a close. Then, I received a welcome text inviting me to join a neighbour for tea in the garden. The sun became masked by cloud cover and the temperature dropped like my shares! Time to don a thick shirt for the evening. But tonight, when photographing the Old Hall, it felt beautifully mild. Right now, it really does feel as if the day is ending, and the night falling at the behest of the Almighty.

Again, I can’t do as I please; I don’t feel like going home yet, but really, I must.

While in the Gardens this afternoon, I came across the little railway which takes (mainly) children on a circular route within the 23 acres of landscaped grounds. This brought to mind a postcard which I acquired on eBay yesterday, depicting Sparrow Lee Station on the then brand new Leek and Manifold Light Railway. The Railway opened in 1904; the card was postmarked January 1905, and the handwritten message extolled the magnificence of the scenery through which the train passed. The line closed in 1934, and was converted to a walking route in 1937. Artefacts from this narrow gauge line are like hens’ teeth. Therefore to have two “official” postcards both written less than two years after the opening, I deem as “fortunate”.

Now, I really must drive home!

Thanks for reading, David, 22.53hrs Old Hall Hotel, Buxton