A visit to Derbyshire in October

Toadlet and I cadged a lift round the loch and boarded a train to Glasgow where we would catch our Manchester-bound train. At the Glasgow ticket office we were informed that because of the storm the previous night (5 October), which had brought down overhead lines at Oxenholme in the Lake District, we would have to be bussed from Carlisle to Lancaster. Toadlet has got to the age of being unphased by disruptions to travel so we shrugged and boarded the train.

At Carlisle all south-bound trains were decanted onto the platform and long queues snaked to and fro (fortunately Carlisle has wide platforms) along hastily erected channels marked with stripey tape. Every now and then there was an announcement about sourcing coaches and buses but the queues didn't move much—perhaps a couple of busloads had been moved on. Then, after one and a half hours, it seems that one rail line had been opened at Oxenholme so one (fortunately very long) train had got through and was ready to take us all south.

While we had been waiting we entertained ourselves people-watching and "dealing with" the man immediately behind us who seemed to have no idea that he was repeatedly invading our personal space. Eventually I used my suitcase, tilted on its wheels, as a barricade to keep him out of our hair. A little later we just let him overtake us. His behaviour was the most extreme of that sort that I have experienced. I don't think telling him he was too close would have helped. I think he was simply clueless about such social niceties.

The best part about the time spent queueing was this notice. It delighted us both.

As we settled into the train that would take us as far as Preston I received a text message from Toadlet's school asking me to get in touch as she wasn't in school that day. When planning the trip I had thought that this week was her school's half-term break. She did not enlighten me that it is in fact next week! I told the school caller that we were on a train heading south and she'd be absent all week. As my son-out-law said when we told him the story: "Win!"

As well as walking my elder grandson to school, wiping porridge off everything within chucking range of  a twenty-month-old, and associated activities, we enjoyed some walks in the area where DerbyshireDaughter lives–the valley containing the Longdendale Chain of reservoirs.

Looking east up Longdendale

Benches are for sitting on—DerbyshireDaughter, Piglet and Toadlet

During this walk Toadlet said she wanted to go to a hairdresser's to have her hair cut as it was too heavy. Her sister told her we could do the "Mumsnet Five-Minute Haircut" at home. Although I had already mentioned this, teenagers do not believe their mothers know useful things about trimming hair so I was glad DerbyshireDaughter did the telling this time (and saved me a few quid while she was at it!). The MFMH was applied to both daughters once "Piglet" was down for his afternoon nap. In Toadlet's case, this means the 'ombréd' ends have gone. She likes the result so all is well.

Mid-nineteenth century Methodist Chapel, now a house

This old man told me some of its story

 I liked this old barn door. The geese are the reason for the notice on the gate that leads into the farmyard, I suppose —no dogs and use the other entrance:

Fruit of a spindle tree

lovely colours

dark haws of hawthorn—abundant crop this year

Our journey home yesterday also diverged from the usual, this time because of lines down (or some other trouble) at Lockerbie. From Manchester we crossed over the Pennines to York and got to Glasgow on one train from there via Darlington, Durham, Newcastle, Edinburgh, Carstairs, and Motherwell. The refreshment trolley had run out of hot water by Durham so I was forced to make do with a wee bottle of rosé. I sighed bravely and put up with the inconvenience. The subsequent train and car journey  home from Glasgow seemed terribly ordinary in comparison.