Then they explained about the very popular Peak District National Park. So on a Wednesday afternoon we piled aboard the coach with our students - "you don't have to go, you know", we were told - delighted at the opportunity.
Within seconds we were out of the city and driving past the purple heather on the moors. In places the countryside was really rugged.
And then there were farms and fields, and black-faced sheep with long tails.
We were going to the little town of Castleton - very popular because of several caves or caverns that can be accessed here (for a price).
On this beautiful summer afternoon, our large group of foreign students made up a small fraction of the hoard of tourists packing the town. But the local people were, as ever, gracious and friendly.
Up between those hills is the entrance to Speedwell Cavern, where you descend and travel in a boat on an underground river. By the time we made our way up this hill (which is a lot steeper than it looks) there were more than sixty people waiting in line to go into Speedwell.
We joined the queue and waited. After a good twenty minutes - during which time the line had shuffled forward minimally only once - Peter went down the hill and around the corner to the head of the queue and discovered that they take about twenty passengers every twenty minutes ... we would miss our bus back to the Uni if we stayed. So we gave up and decided to maybe come again another day.
Back at the carpark I had time to bond with some of my students. And we puzzled over this sign:
We've heard of "Cow Tipping", and we have seen a Far Side cartoon about "Boy Tipping" (a revenge thing) ... but Fly Tipping - ?
[So we did look it up on the 'Net, and it has something to do with dumping rubbish. I still prefer the image of trying to get those tiny flies to fall over.]
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