Foolow village looks like a calander picture. First impression is that there are some well healed in-comers taking care of the buildings. The village even has a duck pond which isn't filled with discarded shopping trollies. The little church is plain, but delightful; it dates from only about 1880.
Eyam, the plague village, made our final destination of the day. Two well dressings and a brass band; sadly out of tune and timing, but the large procession made up for that.
The drive around, to and from these villages took us through some of the loveliest of Derbyshire countryside. Bright purple heather, green fields, woods and forest, stone walls and cottages, all set in limestone, deep-rolling dales which are topped by grit-stone edges and moors. That alone was worth the effort of venturing out in the rain.
Back at The Cottage poor Mr Flint looked sadder than ever. He's reached a ripe old age and his health is failing. A sad counterpoint to the enjoyable day with good mates ... that's life Freddy Boy ...
A Formula 1 journey back to Sheffield, in what must have been a supercharged 272, got us home before the evening rain set in.