Baby's first...Holiday
The first family holiday has been booked for quite a while, and we'd invited the Bowes along for good measure, sanity, and a sneak peek into the life and times of a two-and-a-half year old. So what did we get up to, and more importantly did the little 'un enjoy it?
First holiday, first night away from home, first steps just before going, first time leaving the house without enough food packed to see us through 'til we get home. Surely it was a disaster?
The morning start wasn't particularly early as we couldn't get the cottage until 4ish, which wasn't a problem at all. What was more of a problem was my set of dangerously under-inflated tyres and one almost bald rear tyre. Thankfully, down to LOCAL traders, we got a new tyre first thing on Saturday morning to set us on our way. Oh, and the other three pumped up a touch too.
We tried to take a decent road to Newcastle, but ended up on a farm track behind caravan after caravan after caravan after tractor after caravan. I'm with Hammond on this one, Tina Turner and her Bunsen Burner rules!!
A stop for lunch at Junior's request came minutes away from Scotch Corner services, so in we went. We have used Little Chef before through choice, but this was absolutely bloody awful. The food was not pleasant at all, presentation points nil, no taste, dirty place, poor service, and Dick Turpin prices. Everything the motorway services used to be but are trying to leave behind. Perhaps they should get round to Scotch Corner sometime soon, because it has clearly been forgotten about.
After that the journey improved, with a stop at the Bowes mansion for a cuppa and a snack for Junior. Then the fun started again, with the tyre pressure warning coming on once we hit the M1 again. After a stop and check, it just needed a reset and we were off again, albeit gingerly.
Holestone Moor Barns - as we pulled into the courtyard outside the cottage there were two notable moments.
1) The engine being switched off and me sinking my head into my hands on the wheel
2) The fantastic reception we got from Steve & Vicki, the owners
So far that's Junior's longest journey by car, a trip we would normally have done with no stops. Alas, the days of non-stop travel are well and truly over. At least we don't have the "are we there yet" commentary from the back. That particular joy is yet to come.
The Sunday was a slow start, with a visit to a local farm park. Plenty of animals to see and feed, the baby ferrets being of particular interest to MOTS. Junior preferred the bigger species, from chucks upwards.
Bank Holiday Monday - we left the cottage (were we mad?). Crich is home to the National Tramway Museum, which also had a vintage vehicle day on as an added bonus on the Monday. Junior wasn't too happy on Monday, as we later worked out this was down to the jabs from the previous Friday. The two tram rides brought out the Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde in him - "ding ding, 'hold tight'" and we're bouncing at the front of the top deck, holding onto the front rail of the tram, happy as Larry. "This stop for ....." and we're at Hyde's stop, screaming, back stiff and arched. "Ding ding, 'hold tight'" and the Doctor's back.
We have a small number of old postcards and like to look through the ones on sale at stalls when we can. We had exactly that opportunity at Crich, mostly of trams funnily enough. There was one that caught the eye of MOTS, here was a real and distinct possibility that the pit pony, and more importantly the chap next to the pit pony, from 1909 was Junior's Great Great Grandfather. A call to Granddad (whose Granddad it would have been) resulted in a "not sure" answer. Do we buy the card? At £60 we'd better be more than "not sure". Anyway, as it turns out, there is doubt remaining to this day. We didn't fork out the £60 on a remote possibility, but wanted to get the contact details from the dealer in case it turned out to be a distinct possibility. He refused to give us anything. No name, no phone number, nothing. To me that means he thinks we could be Inland Revenue, so he's clearly in my mind a suspicious charlatan who doesn't pay his dues to Her Majesty's Treasury. I would like to think it was, and that Junior has seen a picture of so many generations past.
By Tuesday we're still not feeling 100%, still off the food a little. So the visit to Matlock and the Peak Railway went less than smoothly. He did have some of our fish & chips, and did enjoy the steam train. When it was moving of course. Daddy didn't like the climb up the temporary scaffolding steps put in place while a new road bridge is built. Secretly Mr Bowes wasn't struck on the idea of it either, but complained far less than I did.
Wednesday. Good God what a change. Having the most fantastic baker's lunch from Bakewell sat watching the fish in the river, the appetite came back with a vengeance. The cheese & onion pasty wasn't safe, nor the pork & apple or pork & tomato sausage rolls, his sandwiches, the fromage frais, all vanished without a trace. All this while I got the best photo of the week - Mr Bowes and the fruit of his loins walking peacefully along the banks of the river with the medieval bridge in the background, with other people in shot totalling none. Not happy with lunch Junior filled his load even more in the afternoon while we sat having afternoon tea at the Denby pottery. Very civilised, what what.
The best day for Junior was Friday, with a visit to the seaside resort of Matlock Bath. They have fish & chips in abundance, rock, amusements, promenade walks, illuminations, cable cars, everything a seaside town should have. Except the sea. Built up from the spa which provides water at a steady rate of 19 degrees Celsius, this is an inland Blackpool. Without the chavs. The aquarium caught Junior's attention the most. He was fascinated by all the fish, large and small. We think we have found his calling in life - he loves our cats, he loved Steve & Vicki's cat, the farm, the fish. That's it, we're having to save up now because vets courses are not the cheapest.
Just one little accident through the week, as he's now walking (yes walking) he mis-judged the distance to a chair and went down like a sack of spuds, getting a big egg on his forehead where he clashed with the bar across the chair. Not that he was bothered by it, and it was gone without trace by morning.
Totally uneventful trip home (apart from the rant coming up) with Junior getting bored 10 minutes from home. That's what I call a result! Right, the rant. Caravans. Why? For the bulk of the year they are static. This is no good for the tyres. They get hard, the pressure on them in one place leaves the bulge on one side of the tyre weaker, and liable to crack. And when the idiot at the wheel gets that tyre nice and warm on the motorway BANG - it's all over the carriageway. Sure enough we passed one on the M1 with bits of steel and rubber strewn all over. Rent a cottage instead, it's much more civilised. Or buy a static caravan. Tax them to pay for the policing and clean-up of the blow-outs, to offset the extra fuel the 30-mile tailback (I think ours was more like 80 on the way down) is burning. Tax them hard. For the love of God, ban the caravan.
Many thanks again for the input from the Bowes, it certainly would not have been the same had we been on our own.
