For the second time I’m off for a three day trip – this time just after having got back from Ludlow.  However much my bed is telling me to stay, my duty to my readers is clear and I get up early to pack the rucksack (no bloody wheeled suitcase this time) and head out to the station.  Of course, some of my attention to duty may be due to the fact that the train tickets and accommodation have already been booked and paid for, but I prefer to consider my less selfish motivations.  The day starts grey and overcast, but as I leave the house the sun comes out which I decide to take as a good sign.

The trip to the station is as uneventful as a walk through Slough ever gets and I then spend a fun few minutes playing with the ticket machine and getting it to vomit forth an array of tickets covering the next 3 days.  A I pick it up, I boggle at the price of the ticket – and also wonder what a Super Off Peak Ticket is.  There’s nothing around to explain it, and the staff are busy staring off into the middle-distance and I don’t particularly want to disturb them when they’re chewing the cud.  So I decided to try and find out later on — I’m sure it won’t be important.

I sit down on the platform and crack on with my book – The Dictionary of Medieval Heroes – which I am currently plowing through at a fair speed.  My concentration is disturbed by a Chinese man who is perched extremely uncomfortably on the edge of a seat, eating a Cornetto and singing to himself.  I’ll put him down as my first odd person of the day (not counting myself, obviously) and I hope that this bodes well.

The journey to London is also uneventful as the train behaves, I get a seat with no trouble and the serenading man realizes what he was doing and spends the journey in silence.  I hide a smirk as I get off the train and see someone rush past me.  I smile because he is dressed in blue blazer, shirt and tie.  Why is that funny?  Because he has matched that with skinny jeans and blue trainers.  It looks as though he must work behind a counter somewhere and he’s hoping that no-one will ever see his bottom half.  Given that he, like 95% of the population, does not have the physique for skinny jeans I can only hope this to be the case.

The Spiral Line treats me with it usual gentility apart from a massive scrum at St Pancras INTERNATIONAL where it would appear no-one can work out the intricacies of the automated ticket barriers.  I am worried that they have been replaced by something which requires an advanced degree, superior hand to eye co-ordination or a code that only the wisest can de-crypt.  Instead, I put my ticket in the slot as usual and walk straight through.  None the wiser, I head off leaving the scrum behind me and into the halls of my favourite train station.  Now, while I might be typing that with sarcasm apparently many people say it without it and mean it as St Pancras INTERNATIONAL has been voted the 2nd favourite station in the country.

I can only assume that the INTERNATIONAL travelers voted for it, as once again I have to work my way past them and their associated high-brow shops and head for a dimly lit platform tucked away in the corner.  Given that the trains from here go to Corby, Sheffield and Nottingham, I briefly wonder whether they deserve to be tucked away in a corner.  As I wait for my train, I spot some art that catches my eye.

Of course, they’re not on my platform so I head off to my train.  This is a Sheffield train and made up of 7 carriages – 3 of which are First Class and therefore empty.  3 out of 7 carriages?  Really?  I’m not trying to demean people from Sheffield, many of whom I’m sure are fine people, but given the cost of my Super Off Peak tickets I would imagine that the only people who can afford First Class are MPs or people with similarly huge expense accounts.

I trudge past the carriages and find a table to sit it in a carriage which, bizarrely, has signs up stating that none of the seats are reserved.  Seeing as this is being said by the friendly little displays above every seat I dump my rucksack, sprawl across the seat and get back into my book.  I’m peripherally aware of a couple who sit at the table across the aisle from me, and become more aware when someone arrives and tells them they are in the wrong seats.  They then have to admit that, in fact, I am in their seat and they just didn’t want to bother me.  I do the right thing and move to an another apparently unreserved seat – and then 5 minutes later have to move again.  I end up moving three times and I only stay where I am then because the rather polite man who should have been in my seat refuses to take it after the nice couple from earlier explain how often I have moved seats.  There is then an animated discussion about the point of the displays on each seat when clearly no-one has bothered to update them.

There is some brief entertainment when someone who is having trouble getting their luggage tucked behind their seat snaps at another passenger who tries to push past them.  To be fair, the first man was being particularly pathetic but I did think the second person could have waited a bit longer.  Then again, maybe he was aware of the bizarre approach to seat booking on the train and wanted to make sure he claimed his seat before some surly bloke from Slough tainted it by sitting in it.

The train gets going, the journey starts and things do not improve.  For some reason there are two ticket inspectors who both insist on seeing everyone’s tickets.  Seeing as they’re both in the carriage at the same time, I have to wonder which one of them is on some odd work experience scheme.  About 45 minutes into the journey the intercom plays a piercingly loud double chime for no readily apparent reason.  It then repeats this 5 times, successfully waking up absolutely everyone including several young children who start crying.  This is not the best train journey I have ever taken.

It is an absolute pleasure to get out at Derby where I have to take a connecting train to Matlock.  I look for somewhere to sit and find out that in Derby people are so hard that they just have metal bars to sit on rather than seats.  After perching on there for a while reading, I use the facilities.  My brief stint in there is disturbed by an odd toilet cleaner who seems to think that you clean a toilet by going up to each one and just slamming the toilet seat down incredibly loudly.  Of course, they might not have been an employee – they could have been an example of local “colour”.  Whatever the reason, I’m relieved when the tiny 2 carriage train to Matlock arrive and we head off on the last stage of todays journey.

I relax although I feel a bit lack-lustre.  Maybe it’s the journey, maybe it’s just travel fatigue or maybe it’s just general irritation.  While it’s sunny, it’s actually quite chilly and I’m not overly convinced that this is going to be a good trip.  I’ve also noticed that the person doing the announcements has some strange speech impediment and doesn’t seem to be able to pronounce “Bath” correctly.  (I have noticed a similar impediment afflicting  many people who live north of London).  Despite my concerns, we arrive at the quaint little station at Matlock Bath without further incident.

Given the weather and my disappointment so far, I decide to head for my sole reason for coming here – the Heights of Abraham.  These are reach by that most common of Derbyshire transportation methods: a cable car.

These tiny cable cars give a short but spectacular journey up to the Height of Abraham.  Some might challenge “tiny” as they can apparently take 6 people in each one.  That may be so – should they all be munchkins!  I certainly wouldn’t want to be in there with more than 2 or 3 people.  However, I’ve got one all to myself so I can enjoy the view.

The weather is perfect for this and the views are spectacular.  I head to the cafe at the top and grab some lunch on the terrace.

After lunch, I start to explore the area.  This area has been used for centuries as a holiday destination and the tourist area at the top has a lot of artwork – including a statue to commemorate when this area featured during the Torch Relay for the 2012 Olympics.

There is also a viewing tower that I decided I have to climb to get the best views.

I then find that my experiences in Ludlow Castle are haunting me as I find yet another incredibly narrow spiral staircase.

But the view from the top is well worth it.  I have a good look around up here and then head down to the Masson Cavern to go on the guided tour.  This cavern has been used as a tourist spot for centuries although things have progressed somewhat since Victorian times when people were lowered into the caves in a basket.  We get to walk in and have a very instructive tour.

It’s odd being in a cave on such a sunny day, but when the tour finishes and we head outside the contrast makes the view even better.

There is a small museum here talking about the archaeology of the area and I potter around for a while, looking at some of the displays.

I went to Wookey Hole earlier this year and was disappointed as (apart from the caves themselves) everything around it was incredibly tacky and aimed at young children.  The experience here is far better – educational, impressive and well worth while.

But now I’ve seen it all, so it’s time to head down.  I could go back down by cable car, but as it’s a glorious day now I decided to walk down.  I’m writing this 5 months later and my knees still haven’t quite got round to forgiving me.  But, it’s a very attractive walk down into the small town of Matlock Bath – this picture from the bottom gives an idea of the gradient.

Matlock Bath itself is weird.  It is basically one street that runs alongside the river.  It feels just like being at the waterfront at Brighton or Southend: amusement arcades and more fish and chip shops than I have even seen.  There are also a load of motorbikes as Matlock Bath is a meeting point for bikers.  So, as I walk down the road to my guest house, I get to admire some of the bikes – and, naturally, sneer a little at the Harleys.

I’m staying at the Ashdale Guest House (http://www.ashdaleguesthouse.co.uk/)and I’m immediately impressed.  The owners are friendly and the room is large.  I resist the temptation to just crash out, but shower and change and then head out to find somewhere to eat.  I ignore the fish and chip shops and end up at The Fishpond where I order an excellent burger (with black pudding and Stilton) as well as a very welcome pint of beer.

I have a quick check on my finances – they’re looking a bit tight and I hope that the overnights have already been taken out of my account or I might be in a bit of trouble.  But that’s something to worry about tomorrow.  I head back to the Ashdale and I settle down to sleep with the sound of motorbikes going up and down the main road.  What a great day.