We raced on down the M74 through south Scotland. We managed to obtain a phone number for a camp site in Edale which had certain attractions. Unfortunately, the site was on an answer phone, but we left a message.
By the time the camp site phoned back we were well into England. We had been through the Cumbrian fells and were pondering on just what to do as we approached Lancashire. But we had a positive response and my wonderful hunav system (my wife) was able to take us down the M61 and M60, skirting the massive Manchester conurbation to the east, to bring us into Derbyshire. We passed through Glossop and Stalybridge and into a very remote campsite at Upper Booth where a rather tired driver happily pitched a tent.
In terms of what we like this was just the job. In terms of convenience it was less good, for there was no electricity on this site. But we had a little gas stove so we knew we’d be fine. The particular attraction of this site was that tent nearest top left. We knew our son and his girlfriend were on this site – indeed, it was them who gave us the number. We didn’t at that stage know which tent it was, but when they returned from a trip out we found it was that one.
I went and had a quick play with our Sid’s new camera. Zoomed in above and zoomed out below.
What a stunning site.
We prepared us a meal on our gas stove – and a very good camp meal too. An old favourite of mine is what we call camp stew – a tin of corned beef forms the basis, with vegetables, similarly preserved and quick and easy to heat up. It looks good.
For afters, what better than treacle pud (from a can) and custard.
You can see we don’t go hungry.
After our food, the family arrived with chairs and extra light and we played a good old game of trains – a family favourite game. It was a wonderfully happy occasion – much enjoyed. I lost hopelessly. From memory, our Sid won.
The game was made all the more amusing by the lack of light. A camera flash makes it look bright, but it wasn’t. Some of us were holding our torches up and pointing them down on the map of Europe in what seemed rather like a war time control room scene.
Next morning we encountered our son taking the washing up to be done so we knew they were up and about. I sent my other half to be interested in their tent. She couldn’t raise a reply as she walked around saying, ‘Hello. Is anyone there? Are you open for business?’
Eventually, a very German sounding voice replied with, ‘Hello’ and my lady realised she’d gone to the wrong tent. What did the poor occupants of this tent think? We never did find out for we didn’t see them emerge.
I took a walk around the area.
A stone stile next to an open gateway.
Our location.
Pennine Way signs.
Tents were down – the younguns were leaving as well. Both tents were stowed in our car for we had room to dry them. We were all off.
