The Devil's Arse

To celebrate our fifth anniversary, I took Louise somewhere really special. Somewhere she's always wanted to go. Somewhere that's the epitome of romance, sophistication and glamour. Forget Paris, Rome or Hawaii...

I took her to The Devil's Arse.



Set in the Peak District town of Castleton, directly below the medieval Peveril Castle, the Devil's Arse boasts the largest natural cave entrance in the UK. The tour guide explained how the cave itself often floods and that in days gone by, the noise of the flood waters draining away was thought to sound like Satan himself... passing wind.



During the 17th Century, the cave was home to an entire settlement of rope-makers who lived there rent free. In a dark, slimy, smoky, dingy hole in the ground, prone to flooding. Kind of like Bradford, without the urban garden.



The tour took us deep into the cave, through a 3 foot high tunnel and into a large chamber with a huge drop known as the Devil's Cellar, from which, legend has it, you could hear the River Styx below. We tried, but all we could hear were the annoying children who'd been dragged along on the tour by their parents and the chuntering of the miserable Man At The Back who didn't like that the tour guide directed most of his explanations at the kids and appeared to be auditioning for a job as a presenter on C-Beebies. (In a rather surreal moment, there was a video playing old Dangermouse episodes for kids to watch while they waited for the tour to start. Something else the parents were far more interested in than their offspring.)



That said, it's a fascinating place to visit, and the idea that the cave itself was created by the limestone remains of millions of tiny sea creatures compressed together millions of years ago - south of the equator - continentally shifted over the centuries to create a huge cavern in northern England... well, when you think about that, it boggles the mind.



Anyway, never let it be said I don't know how to show my lady a good time. Romance is alive and well... and living in The Devil's Arse.

Holiday Catch-Up

Honestly, I take a few days off and everything happens! Lost finishes. Denis Hopper and Gary Coleman die. Jack Bauer goes off the deep end. So much to blog about, so little time...

I did consider adding to the morass that's doubtless already been scrawled in online blood and viscera about the last Lost, but in the end I prefer to let it stand. As far as I'm concerned, they delivered. I found it was a hugely satisfying conclusion both in terms of narrative and emotion. I can't imagine a more rewarding wrap-up, taking into account everything that's gone before. Yes, I could pick. I could niggle that this character or that didn't get the attention they deserved. I could wonder where Mr. Eko was (he wanted too much money?) but where would it get me? More than any other show, the Lost finale could so easily have fallen flat or failed to perform. It didn't. It made the whole journey feel worthwhile.

(See? That's me not saying anything and letting it stand.)



On from that, a few more highlights... and lowlights... from our holiday. Let's start with the underwhelming: Aira Force. Billed as the most famous of the Lake District waterfalls, a 20 minute hike led us through a pleasant forest of pine till we reached...

This.



I've seen a fair few waterfalls in my day, in all parts of the country. I love a good waterfall. But generally I expect a little more than a giant wee. For an area as breathtakingly impressive as the Lakes, I expected more from Aira Force. Maybe we just caught it on a bad day.

Far more impressive were the quartet of ducklings we encountered getting swimming lessons from their mum in Dovedale, Derbyshire. It's not that clear from the pictures, but they had to work their way upstream - a mini-waterfall that was in its own way far less disappointing than Aira Force - yet despite their tiny size and the speed of the river, they all managed... to cheers from the gathered spectators.




One curiosity we encountered both in the Peaks and the Lakes was the Log O' Coins. A large tree trunk at the side of the path with loads of 10 and 2p coins hammered into it... for no reason I could divine. If you've ever encountered such a spectacle, perhaps you know the why. Is it a good luck thing (a wooden wishing well)? Or something far more sinister...? Where's Mulder and Scully when you need them?



The guest house we stayed at in the Peaks was truly idyllic. The weather helped, of course, but taking afternoon tea and scones in the garden was like something from a dream... or Alice In Wonderland, minus the insanity.



But the real highlight of our week away was a little furry blighter called Dinky. Last time we visited this particular part of the Lakes, we met some very tame and friendly deer. On popping down to visit them again (they eat grass out of your hand), we found something even cuter. A newborn donkey. Again, the photos just don't do him justice - but sadly, this is as close as we could get.

Pictures Don't Do It Justice

So yes, we've had a holiday. A couple of days in the Peak District followed by a couple of days in the Lake District. Gorgeous weather in the former, not so gorgeous in the latter, but stunning views both times. We really are fortunate to live in such a beautiful country.