Monyash (near Bakewell) 30th March 11.8 miles

Up for it were:

Yupmeister, Mid Week Tone, Pedro, Granpop Bill, Stubbee, JayCee, Malc Jay, Spikelett, Mr Tahoohigh, GPS-cott, Baz, Vince, Ali Gee, Chris Mayer, Jacko, Tim Mothy, Matt Nice-one, Austin Knotty, Mark (AK's mate), Trevor (AK's mate), Dasher, Debri (Debbie Holihead), Stig, Corky and Thingy.

Heavy pulled out with a trip to the Isle of Wight but Corky managed to escape from the office to join us, taking us back up to 25.

The weather of late had been appalling but it wouldn’t last, surely not. Yuppers had put in a request!! ….and so it proved….

It was a 7am start from the Westbury for those travelling on the minibus, with subsequent pick-ups at Penkhull and Milton for Ali G and Spikelett respectively. Arrival at Monyash was 8am, where arrangements had been made for The Old Smithy Tea Rooms to open up earlier than their normal time of 10am for us. It was a café full of character, within a former blacksmiths. http://www.oldsmithymonyash.co.uk/.

Shame there wasn’t enough time for a full Smithy traditional brekky, but then we probably wouldn’t have felt like bothering with the walk afterwards!!  Enough time though for a butty and a mug of tea. Pints of tea were available if anyone could take it.  Corky of course would have preferred a pint of beer.

Dasher and Debris turned up at the last minute blaming a missing mascara for being late. They don’t call him ‘black-eyed Dasher’ for nowt you know!!

We gathered by the village cross for the usual group photos before we set off.  The cross evidently dated back to around 1340.  The plaque at its base explained that the holes in its base are where the lead miners tested their drills after sharpening at the Smithy.

Knotty, Mark and Trevor had also arrived late, but in time for the group photo. Obviously the mascara effect had spread.

The young bus driver from Warrington’s joined us for a quick cuppa before returning to the bus for a nap, whilst the locals attempted to drop their children off at the local school, huffing and puffing as they tried to manoeuvre around the bus.

We set off as intended just after 8.30am passing the one remaining mere hidden behind a local school.  The village's name of Monyash derives from 'many waters' or meres which it had many years ago. http://www.monyash.info/index.php We made our way south eastwards along the Limestone Way, splitting off through a farm yard and up to Arbor Low, a unique Stone Age henge monument constructed about 2500 BC, and now in the capable hands of English Heritage. Faced with a quid admission fee we dug deep into our pockets, scowling at Chris as we did so. Didn’t he know most of us are now poor retirees?? ‘I didn’t tell you it’d cost a quid to get in, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have bothered’, admitted Chris. He was right.

We stood in the central 'sanctuary' area for a few minutes admiring the circle of around 50 white limestone slabs and listened to a brief history of the surroundings explained by Chris. Chris also explained that two hundred metres away was Gib Hill, built on top of a Stone Age long barrow.

Ali G thought he was describing a wheel barrow until it was further explained that this barrow was in fact an ancient burial mound. That was worth the quid. Now if he’d have thought a barrow was a pig that had been castrated before sexual maturity, he would also have been wrong!! Go on then, look it up, I dare you.

As we headed west towards Parsley Hay, several trig point anoraks, Knotty and Co were spotted heading back towards Arbor Low. Unaware of their fetish and unable to contact them by phone we continued on and along the High Peak Trail. Perhaps they were returning to put more money in the tin at the farm, or to look for immature castrated pigs, we thought.

At Sparklow, Spike, Mr Tahoohigh and Corky veered off to check out the Royal Oak, desperate for their first tasting of the day. Sadly it was closed, despite a sign confirming they were open from 10am for coffee.

The rest of us continued, and continued, walking a few hundred yards beyond the turn off for the Duke of York at Pomeroy, until someone at the rear had the inkling to look at a map and spot that we’d gone too far. Well done that man, or was it woman? http://www.thedukeofyorkpub.com.

http://www.ukcampsite.co.uk/sites/details.asp?revid=7582

We marched back up to the top of the hill to the Grand Old Duke of York. Reminds me of a nursery rhyme.

The choice of ales was limited, but it was a Robinsons tied house after all. At least the landlord was happy to serve us with additional beer in half pint glasses to make up for the deep frothy heads on the Unicorns. Thingy and fellow companions shifted the tables around to cleaner pastures as we made the most of the superb sunshine beating down on us from above.

The sky gradually darkened as were about to leave, and the rumbling sounds of thunder could be heard.  Luckily, it turned out to be the latest beer barrels being delivered and rolled into the cellar.

We gathered in the bar and prepared for the off, allowing a short hail storm to disappear almost as quickly as it came. Talking of which, a giant condom also appeared out of nowhere, and made its way into the group. It must have been someone wanting to make a complete dick of their selves. Who could it be?

‘I don’t know if I’m coming or going’, said Jaycee …. Oh, what a give away.

The surrounding landscape was admired by the Stubmeister, in particular a valley which bore a remarkable resemblance to one of his favourite areas, and bought a smile to his face.  Continuing on we walked along Midshire’s Way and Highstool Lane arriving at Chelmorton and our lunch stop, the Church Inn. http://www.thechurchinn.co.uk/index.html.

I forget the name of the favourite guest ale but it ran out within the first ten minutes or so. As quick as lightening though, the Abbeydale Deception was set up to replace it.

Several meals had been pre-ordered, although most waited to see if the Rabbit Pie would appear on the specials board before ordering.

Whether it was the beer or the food, we will never know, but something inspired a group of us to start jigging as soon as we stepped out of the pub. We were soon followed by the Beverley sisters, Baz, Vinny, GPScott and Mid Week Tone who began warbling old ballads, keeping it up for most of the trek back to Monyash.

Only when we passed some furry pigs at Flagg, did the Beverley sisters stop to take breath. ‘What do you treat pigs with when they’ve got sore arses?’ asked Joe. ‘Oinkment, of course’, he announced. And so his old ‘jokes’ continued. ‘You’d need to make an appoinkment first though’, he added. And so it went on, all the way back to Monyash. We did pass some strange looking tents on our way which it was pointed out had been the subject of a recent television programme. They looked like they’d been made out of furry pig hide to me.

We rendezvoused at the Bulls Head back in Monyash where several had already left to drive home. Joseph and Spikelet arrived later, having taken a slightly deviation, so we tried the Golden Hunter while we waited and Bill got on well with a Yorkshire Farmer.

The driver turned up later than expected at around 5.40pm. What a star (and relief).

An excellent day yet again, and a fantastic walk organised by our one and only Chris.

Well done Chris.

(Yuppers

(enjoy yer barrows)