18 March 2011

Top coat cold.

I've been doing a lot of walking lately, my feet are still aching a bit now actually, I think it's subconciously wanting to shed myself of this, erm, 'winter coat', plus it's a lovely time of the year right now, sunny, but cold, probably the best time of the year for me - a challenge to get all layered up, wear a funny hat and muddy one's shoes in some localish not so far flung backwater. Heading out on a daft little adventure with no map and a vague memory of what I'd Googled the night before fading with every footstep, whilst getting slowly sozzled, sounds like a plan to me, I wouldn't have it any other way. Two or three weeks ago it was a jaunt into the Derbyshire hills, up to Buxton.
The highest market town in the country fact fans, the locals say it's 'top coat colder', I don't fully follow but I must say I agree, it was fucking freezing, I could have sneaked at least vest in easy, or a big wooly jumper. Buxton is famous for one thing, that's right; Tim Brooke-Taylor, only joking, it's famous for water, not just any water, it's world famous bottled spring water, so nice even Mr President himself drinks it. Buxton's one of them spa towns, you can actually get the spring water at St Ann's well in the centre, a constant free supply, naturally I cupped my hands and had a slurp, for such a cold day it was as warm as dog piss.
As Cheshire meets Derbyshire in the west and Staffordshire in the south, a good explantation for the local twang, a funny mix which makes the locals sound rather well spoken in my experience, even when they are starting on you with added expletives. Buxton is referred to as 'the gateway to the Peak District', trains terminate here, it's twinned with Oignies in France and Bad Nauheim in Germany. there's an array of pubs and outdoor shops. It was popular amongst hikers and weird beardy men who walk and drink, but not at the same time.

Buxton's famous spring water, free on tap in the town centre, 3/5.

Buxton has Saint George in it's heart, and on the roof, which keeps it English.

I'm pretty certain these exact same crocuses were here last year.

With the Opera House, Wells, Pavilion Gardens, Corbar Hill, the Dome, and the Crescent, Buxton has plenty of focal points, I used to come here as a boy and remember a massive park with a miniature Railway, also the Natural Mineral Baths, originally Roman baths opened in 1854, we used to go to Buxton Baths as kids. I think it had a slide, like Romiley, which in the early eighties was quite the attraction.

Look at that, and the one above, and tell me, what is more inviting after a brisk day's walk?

Altogther now, 'You do the hokey cokey and you turn around...'

After a scout of the local sights and sounds, we visited several of the local hostelries, or pubs, sampled a few of the ales, quite a few actually, so eventually jumped on a city bound train home, probably the last one, it was full of young, trendy folk, that's being kind, it was full of funboy village idiots actually impressing woodstained looking Doris's with hilarious Subway related quips about their footlong dicks, heading into the unknown, or Manchester, what to me, in my slightly older than them, years, seemed dead late. I'm getting old, maybe that's why I was rambling in the High Peak and I'm fucking rambling right now, New Mills and a funny bridge up next...

1 comment:

  1. great, great article! auckland is hot. but my heart is back in the north