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Move the clock on 42 years to
2010 and here I found myself at this hallowed ground on Boxing Day, along
with my brother
Gordon (out on a visit from South
Africa), his daughter Michelle and grand-daughter Micaela, to watch a
Premier League game between Manchester United and Sunderland. Owing to
Michelle's perseverance, we secured the tickets for the game, intended as a
surprise birthday present (a few days later). We had struggled to maintain
the secrecy, it has to be said and finally broke the news on Xmas Eve, after
weeks of planning. Our seats were located at the top of the north stand of
Old Trafford, costing £38 for the two adults, £33 for Michelle (as a member)
and £15 for Micaela, as a minor. We left Bromley in south London around
08h30 on the Sunday morning and reached Manchester in good time, able to
find parking in the grounds of a school at a cost of £10, some fifteen
minutes walk from the stadium.
It was touch and go up to that point as
to whether we would actually get to see the game. Icy wintry conditions in
the preceding weeks had brought much of Britain and its transport networks
and systems to a virtual standstill. A game in Blackpool the previous day
(Saturday) had been called off due to the pitch being unplayable. United's
game, scheduled for a three o'clock kickoff, went ahead however, due to
the underground heating
system 10 inches (25 cm) under the pitch, composed of 23 miles (37 km) of
plastic pipes.
Fortunately, it had proved an
entertaining game which United comfortably won 2-0, thanks to a glorious
performance from Bulgarian Dimitar Berbatov, who scored both goals, one in
each half. We had thoroughly enjoyed the game and the atmosphere had
been terrific, the crowd responding to any measure of creative play with
appreciative applause. Having said that, from the upper reaches of the north
stand, we were far removed from the sections of the ground, notably the
Stretford End, where the crowd spontaneously bursts into song in an effort
to spur the team on to greater heights. This is by no means a vintage United
side in the creative sense (compared to previous sides), having curtailed
their spending on new players, yet they found themselves leading the Premier
League race come Christmas. |
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A special Boxing Day Christmas
surprise for my brother, Gordon - tickets to Old Trafford to watch
Manchester United. |
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We left the ground and made our way
back to the car and able to slip into the traffic with ease. With no trains
running on Boxing between London and Manchester on Boxing Day, we had made
the decision (as part of the surprise) not to travel back to London but to
spend two days in the Peak District, about an hour's drive away. Having been
there on numerous occasions with our hiking club, it was the first time I
would visit this part of the countryside when covered in snow. We had
booked relatively cheap accommodation at Parsons House Farm just outside Hathersage, which, though somewhat primitive, proved adequate for our needs.
Micaela was immediately sold on the table tennis table in the pool room and
we played one another on the occasions we did not find ourselves outdoors.
Upon arrival and being shown to our room which we shared by hostess Debbie,
we offloaded our luggage before driving into Hathersage for dinner around
eight in the evening. Being turned away at several pubs no longer serving
food at that hour, we found ourselves in a cosy Indian restaurant.
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Hathersage, The Peak District,
Derbyshire |
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Being keen as mustard for a walk in the
snow the next day, which wasn't greeted with delight by one or two folk in
our contingent, I felt that the time would be wasted, besides which, I
wasn't prepared to spend the time indoors or drive around for hours doing
the tourist thing. Though I had had Mam Tor between Edale and Castleton in
mind as a possibility, it was Debbie who provided a feasible alternative for
a ramble across the countryside. Billed as an outdoor pursuits centre, the
farm is within reached of Stanage Edge, which I had walked with the hiking
club some years before. Decision taken after an English breakfast, armed
with an Ordnance Survey map, we headed out in the direction as indicated,
via a rear gate to the farm, as snow continued to fall. Though not as cold
as expected, the crisp, clean air proved refreshing and we kept up a
cautious yet steady pace towards Burbage Rocks on the edge of Burbage Moor,
the snow crunching delightfully beneath our feet. Using a distinctive
outcrop of forest located to our left as was replicated on the map, we
reached Upper Burbage Bridge, just where the path, located on higher ground,
merged with one from the valley below.
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The wind had picked up and aware of the
fact that the girls, not accustomed to regular hiking, had already been
pushed to the limits of their comfort zone, we decided not to proceed to
Stanage Edge but to pick up a return path on the opposite side of the valley
and on the other side of the forest which would see us reach (lower) Burbage
Bridge on the A6187. Unfortunately, the path we were on did not take us
precisely to where we needed to be, so we trudged up a fairly steep incline
of snow-covered grass to reach a path higher up, much to the consternation
of Michelle and Micaela, before making our way up towards Higger Tor. Here
we met a group of people walking in the opposite direction. To the
astonishment of everyone, one of the women in the group carried a baby
wrapped in warm clothing, putting our effort into perspective somewhat.
Another group of senior citizens passed us by just before we reached a
second outcrop of rock which provided a tricky descent over sections which
proved quite slippery. This finally led us down to the road. Gordon, in
chasing after Micaela carrying a handful of snow, managed to pull a
hamstring and was promptly told off by daughter Michelle for failing to "act
his age" responsibly.
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Two days in the Peak District - a
three hour walk in the snow via Upper Burbage Bridge (approaching
Stanage Edge) from Parson farm, near Hathersage. Lunch at the Fox House. |
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