Ramblings Around Derbyshire

A collection of shamblings culled from the local press written by Bob Ellis.

What a Bunch of Walkers!

"Well, children. Now that spring is in the air, isn't it time we left our little homes in the inner cities and made our way, hoppity-hop, into the countryside for a good, long walkies. There, children, if we look we can see a cow through the round window ..."

Of all the careers denied me by the agencies, nobody thought to put me down for Presenter, Children's Television. Actually, I'm not very good with kids, I can't bear them as the old joke goes, but the Blue Peter approach may work on some of the parents.

This time I've got close to nature, a lot closer than I had planned. I'm sitting in it. The wild snowdrops were a joy this year, the last few stems I have helped off this mortal coil by falling on them.

The daffs are a riot of colour; I've not seen this much yellow since the chip-pan caught fire. So, why am I not full of the joys of spring after my hack in the borders? I don't want to be down here, that's why.

This was to be a gentle shamble along the lanes between Allestree and Quarndon; I use the term "shamble" to separate me from the backpack and booted army of real walkers, when a large car of German origin bounced me into the hedge.

We have to resign our selves to people driving too fast in country lanes, but to add insult to my inglorious entry into the ditch; this idiot was on his car phone. We know a song about him, don't we, children...

The only way over a shock like that is a stiff shandy with a man who knows the way of the countryside, namely one Ian Gray at The Shoulder of Mutton at Osmaston. Yes, I'll admit it, I took the car but if you can't beat them, join them.

Yes, there are also those who would say that the walk from Darley Abbey to Osmaston is not worth leaving the note that reads, "I may be gone for some time" stuck to the fridge but it's time I need to save, I am on a pilgrimage.

Ian Gray has spent a relaxing week decorating the bar. I've been to B&Q a few times since, but for the life of me I can't find Evening Nicotine among the Dulux. Anyone who sets out on a pilgrimage usually has a sense of guilt, of returning to the scene of the crime, of going back.

I became fascinated by Carsington Water when they started "pumping in" from the Derwent the September before last. Since then it has become sport to defy Severn Trent's safety signs and get down to the waters edge to practice my King Canute impression.

It was then it happened. The earth, softened beneath my feet by the rising tide, swallowed one of my shoes. When I pulled my foot clear, the sock had gone. Now, as I look over the water from Millfields, I mourn its passing and wonder if Severn Trent will go halves on a wreath.

I also wonder if their PR person has considered opening the dam to the film industry. The view along the access corridor to the tower under the dam is a spectacular piece of engineering, well up to a chase sequence in the next James Bond. "
Well, children. That's it until next time. Then we will have a look at urban renewal, through the bricked-up window...