Wednesday morning was drizzly. It was our last morning and we'd decide that we'd not be going up hill and down dale just to get soaked and muddy for the drive home.
Breakfast was average. No twats, but no knives for the first half-hour - yet again the basic checks hadn't been done before opening for serving. Jacob was with me in the breakfast queue, he's a growing lad so he asked the server for a second sausage but his polite request was refused. I was offered a second sausage and I accepted it, then gave it to Jacob when I was sure that the server was watching. Actions speak louder than words, as they say.
I'd really had enough of the place so we packed the car and escaped. I doubt that I'll ever be going back.
The Maynes had already departed for their visit to Bakewell, we had an alternative destination - Ashbourne, another place just off the edge of the map. When we arrived the drizzle had abated so we went to a cafe for a brew. We roamed the streets nosing in shops and had a pleasant half-hour in the park.
After that we headed home to wash any remaining crap out of our clothes. On the way home I reflected on the fact that during the whole holiday we'd seen no sunshine, the best we'd had was a three-minute-long view of a small patch of blue sky through a rogue cloud-gap somewhere far away.
No pics, no inspiration.
