Another feverishly warm tropical night. I hear waves washing upon the shore - a perpetual rhythm like the pulsing of my blood. Beat after beat. I fall asleep and dream in vivid technicolour. I'm in Derbyshire again tackling Walk 27 - Bakewell, Chatsworth Park and the River Wye. I park up near the old railway station in Bakewell and soon I'm crossing the little town's golf course where I see this cock pheasant:-
On the turnpike road between Bakewell and Edensor I spot this old guide stoop which predates the building of Chatsworth House:-
I walk through the estate village of Edensor - built by the sixth Duke of Devonshire in the early nineteenth century to replace the old village that they demolished because it "spoilt" his view from Chatsworth. I notice a fairytale cottage - Rock Villa:-
In front of the famous Chatsworth House by the River Derwent, sheep are grazing:-
I walk past the old corn mill that hasn't ground any corn since the nineteen fifties:-
On to Rowsley and Haddon and along the banks of the River Wye towards Bakewell's Grade I listed fourteenth century stone bridge - still in daily use. I see a Canada goose called Trudeau. He asks me which way it is to Trelawnyd:-
And that's when I wake up sweating like Charlie Brooks. I knew I shouldn't have had that large Tequila Sunrise down at the social club last night. Ten miles of vivid dreaming and a bloody talking goose to boot! Is there a shrink in the house? Jenny?