Derbyshire is green fields, grey-edged with dry-stone walls, white-flecked with sheep. It's dun moorland, ribbed with grey outcrops of rock. It's the soft greys and yellows of buildings put together very harmoniously over the years from the huge variety of sandstones and limestones to be found in these parts. It's fitful skies, by turns cheerful and dour.

For our four-day family holiday we based ourselves in Buxton. Last year, on our way back from the Isle of Man, we briefly acquainted ourselves with this ancient spa settlement (reputedly the highest town in England), and it has been a pleasure to gain in familiarity. It's serene, dignified, elegant, and full of interesting architecture.











We stayed (thanks to the generosity of kind family) at the historic Palace Hotel, whose huge pillars and grand staircase transport you straight back to the early days of English tourism. From our top-floor window we could watch the waves of weather washing dramatically over the handsome buildings of the town, the splendid lawns and parks, and the hills beyond. And the comfortable lounge provides a cosy refuge in the evenings if you don't want to venture out in the cold.







This whole area is very rich in places of interest, and would supply material for a much longer trip. Ours was a kind of taster tour.

We briefly skimmed Bakewell, home of the eponymous tarts and puddings. This was my first experience of Bakewell pudding. It's made of puff pastry (unlike the better-known tarts, which feature short-crust pastry). On top is jam (common to puddings and tarts), and a mixture of egg and almond paste (in contrast to the tarts, which are filled with an almond-flavoured sponge). A real Bakewell pudding is a very fine thing, especially with a big jug of cream poured over the top... (And I do need to make clear that three people shared this bowl of decadence...)




We stopped off in Eyam (pronounced "Eem"). The village is famous for the self-sacrifice of its inhabitants, who heroically halted the progress of a 17th-century bout of the plague by self-imposing a quarantine. Nigel and I were here in the winter of 1993, for a reunion with our fellow Siberia-survivors. This year we arrived to peals of bells from the local church, and warmed up at the very charming Eyam Tea Rooms.


We covered a small percentage of the massive grounds of Chatsworth House, home of the Dukes of Devonshire. Even on a cool, gloomy day, the gardens are magnificent, leading you on from vista to vista.









Saturday, when Hannah the Horrible hit hard, was primarily a motoring day. We cruised over Winnats Pass, did a loop round Edale, emerged into Hope Valley, and went home via the Ladybower Reservoir and Snake Pass. All stunning. Derbyshire at its finest, the driving rain making it even more atmospheric.

We broke up Saturday's circuit with lunch at the Riverside Herb Centre, near Hathersage. This is a really delightful place. Not only do you get fine views over the River Derwent and the opposite side of the valley, but you can also watch the local bird population making the most of the feeding station right outside the window. During the couple of hours we were there, robins, great tits, coal tits, blue tits, chaffinches, green finches, a solitary goldfinch, nuthatches, siskins, sparrows, and wood pigeons relayed each other round the feeders. I can't comment on the quality of the bird food (although popularity probably speaks volumes), but the human food is excellent (I loved my piping hot courgette and brie soup, served with hunks of granary and herbed bread). The portions are generous, and the atmosphere is friendly (because everyone is talking about the birds). Highly recommendable.



And today, the long ridge road, with the sweeping views, to Ripley, which I first got to know last year.

Excellent trip. We have some more Derbyshire coming up next week, but this has been a great beginning.