We had been to the old hostelry for Sunday dinner, using a voucher that our daughter, Frances, had kindly given to us for Christmas. Shirley had roast beef which she typically insisted had to be "well done" and I had rump of lamb. It was all pretty good and our waitress - Georgia - was lovely. With her blue eyes and plaited blonde hair, she looked like she had just arrived from some remote Norwegian fjord.
Normally, I slave away in our kitchen on a Sunday afternoon to produce a nice family meal but Frances is away in Denmark for a few days at a work-related training conference in Copenhagen and Stewart's parents were up in Sheffield to help take care of the mischievous sprites often referred to as our granddaughters.
Ashford sits by The River Wye which flows down to Bakewell from Buxton. The water is clear and the old Sheepwash Bridge that crosses it was made from local limestone in the seventeenth century. Here sheep were literally washed in the river right up to the 1930s.
We chatted to a British Asian couple who had driven up from Leicester for the day. They were sitting on a bench, watching the water and remembering days gone by when they often visited The Peak District. They seemed to be at peace in their contentment. Leicester would be an hour's drive back. Proportionately, that city's Asian population is bigger than in any other city in Britain - around 47%.
It had made a pleasant change to enjoy a Sunday dinner that had been made for me and not by me and in the evening light it had been delightful to remind ourselves of the quaint loveliness of Ashord-in-the-Water.
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