The lovely Sarah from Elsevier in Oxford suggested that I should spend the weekend in the Peak District. I drove across last night to the City of Chesterfield, right on the edge of the Peak National Park. Georgiana Cavendish, the Duchess of Devonshire, and Lady Elizabeth Foster are amongst my favourite historical figures, so I was very excited to visit the scene of that oh so scandalous ménage a trois. Of course Chatsworth is also the home of Mr Darcy, so how could I resist a visit to the massive Derbyshire pad of so much excitement.
Today, there was excitement plus. I followed millions of Range Rovers along the winding, gorgeous Peak roads and drove along the snake road to the Baroque/Italianate golden stone edifice. It was a stunning Derbyshire morning, with bright sunlight pouring through the windows. As I headed toward Bakewell, the clouds came in and the temperature dropped. Uncommon for me, I had grabbed a cardigan and my brolly, so felt well prepared to join the masses there for the Chatsworth country fair. Of course, I had grabbed my nightie instead of my cardy, so trooped off across the rain swept parklands in my t-shirt in search of sheep dog trials, highland dancing and the massive number of food and wine stalls that are the quintessential staples of English country fairs.
Well it poured, poured and poured some more. I contemplated going back to the car to get my nightie so I could artfully drape it across my shoulders as the latest fashion statement. I did resist, but only just.
I ended up in the cooking demonstration pavilion, largely because it was massive and dry. It was hilarious. Hundreds of twin set and pearl groupies squealing for Mary Berry. Now of course, I had to google who Mary Berry was. Artisan producers, the Great British Bake Off, and hurdle jumping sheep dogs. The excitement was all too much. Back in the car, the soaking wet clothes came off, the nightie went on and again I showed much restraint by not stopping at the Bakewell tart shop. The Range Rover types were all stopped, but I thought a nightie and boot wearing Aussie, ordinarily might be ok, but unfortunately, and somewhat stupidly, I had forgotten my pearls. Jan has just emailed me to tell me that Mary Berry is one of the UKs national treasures. I am not sure about national treasure, but I do rather think that in another era the style icon, Georgiana, would have been highly entertained by today’s Australian fashionista – blunnies, a nightie, dripping wet hair, but alas no pearls. Hey Lyd – check out the teepees.
Sleeping under the stars 