Dallying In The Dales

Now, I know I promised, sort of, more or less, that there’d be no mention of football in this blog for a while but it’ll be everywhere for the next few weeks, with a bloated, overblown World Cup taking place in Mexico, Canada and the United States.  Also, I had to take a bit of an interest because, for a bit of fun, we golfing PYPers (Pick Your Pro-ers) had to name our top four teams and the leading scorer.

There are 48 countries competing, including England and Scotland and one optimistic Scot has put his team down to win the whole thing; talk about taking devotion too far, surely.  Mind you, one person, who shall remain nameless, has been paying so little attention that he (just to stress that it was NOT a woman) opted for Wales…and had Harry Wilson, a Welshman, winning the Golden Boot.  They won’t be there, though they came agonisingly close to qualifying for their first World Cup finals since 1958.

After a bit of thought but nothing too forensic, no checking recent results, studying injury lists or baffling omissions and only the briefest of glances at the groups and where teams will be playing (there’s a lot of travelling involved for most of them) I came up with this selection:  Brazil, Spain, Mexico and Senegal, with Vinicius Junior scoring the most goals.

Brazil aren’t the irresistible force they once were but I still can’t forget the joy they brought when they were at their breathtaking best.  I wore my Brazil tee shirt until it fell apart and Mum threw it out, too worn even to join the dusters.  Also Carlo Ancelotti, their Italian manager, is a magician, a player whisperer sans pareil.  Spain make most people’s list; Mexico will be playing at home, at altitude, so they’re worth a punt just about; and Senegal are good enough to do well, having beaten Morocco 1-nil in a chaotic, bad-tempered final of the Africa Cup of Nations only to have the result overturned.  Don’t write off the African teams.

One of the reasons I ruled out the northern Europeans was the heat and humidity.  Of course, they all have access to all the best medical and nutritional information and the conditions will take their toll on everybody but it’ll be draining in the extreme and I fear for all northerners born and bred, however fit they are.

Still, with the Curtis Cup coming up this weekend, it’s good to remember that a peelie-wally (pale and wan) GB and I team of  three Irish, two English, two Welsh and one Scot won comfortably in the scorching heat of Prairie Dunes in Kansas – temperatures reached more than 100 degrees in old money, 40-odd now.  They were well prepared and well disciplined:  weighed before they went out in practice and when they came back; banned from using the swimming pool (until the match was over); and versed in the art of  hydration – it was the first time that I’d ever heard of electrolytes.  And, crucially, they played bloody good golf from the off.

As so often, I’ve wandered off at a tangent, rabbiting on about footie and all-our-yesterdays when I’d intended to wax lyrical about the delights of Derbyshire and the Dales.  Back in March, one of our cousins had a big birthday and the question was:  what do  you give the woman who has everything, pretty much?  Mo and I decided that a wee trip away was the answer, the cousin and her sister with Mo and me.

The organiser-in-chief (Mo) got to work and a few days ago the four of us headed off to Bakewell for a couple of nights.  We’d never been away together before but it worked so well that we’re even planning another jaunt next year.  Bakewell isn’t that far from me but I’d never been before and it turned out to be as lovely as everybody said.  We had bakewell cake, as instructed, with custard and ice cream in my case, plenty of wine and lots of chat.

The weather was a bit iffy but the rain was mostly intermittent and we discovered the awesome Haddon Hall (see the featured pic at the top), almost within walking distance of the town if we’d been feeling particularly sprightly.  I confess I’d never heard of it but it’s a fortified manor house, parts of which date back more than 900 years.  It’s still a private residence, a family home with so much history that your jaw is hitting the floor time after time.  It’s in a beautiful setting, with walled gardens and a medieval parkland.  There’s so much to take in, I’ll be booking another visit as soon as possible.

This vestment chest is one of the oldest pieces in the home, according to the notice (perched on the right), and was originally kept in the chapel to house the priest’s vestments.  The coats of arms are those of the Pype family and date the chest to the early 14th century.

Then there’s all the Tudor and Elizabethan stuff, much of which survived because of some nifty political manoeuvring and judicious alliances during turbulent times like the Wars of the Roses and the Civil War.  Also, the fact that the Hall was abandoned for a couple of hundred years meant it avoided any tinkering by the Victorians.  The place is a miracle of survival, really.