48 hours in Derbyshire
Derbyshire weaves a funny spell on anyone from south of Watford: cragged peaks, peat bogs that swallow you whole, ancient limestone, fell wind and rain swim into view. What it also heralds, at least to us weedy Southerners, is immense distance: literally everyone I speak to thinks that Derbyshire is years away, like fusion power, or the North Pole, or Luton.
That's right, don't come to Derbyshire, it's years away and those peat bogs that swallow you whole are everywhere. It's best avoided.
Yet it’s very close. Barely a brisk three-hour drive away on the M1. Since my mum grew up in the Lathkill Dale way back when it was still fleeced by Ash trees, since I used to spend every summer in Buxton with my grandparents and since I am also, at least in theory, capable of reading a map, you’d think I wouldn’t need reminding.
Well okay, Lathkill Dale is worth visiting but in an EV you just won't make it.