Saturday 20th May 2006

I was driving down a straight stretch of wide, empty road today when I got stuck behind a car going cautiously slowly. I could see a long way ahead and the road was completely clear so I pulled out to overtake. As I was passing the slower car, now travelling considerably quicker at maybe 70 or 80 mph, a Police van pulled out from a side entrance to the right, now facing me directly. There was absolutely nothing I could do, I had a car to my left that I was overtaking, and there was no way I could brake sufficiently. It was going to be a full on, head on, collision.

Mercifully, there was just enough space between the car I was over taking and the on coming police fan to whip through – but it was inches. Inches away from a crash that most definitely would have been fatal. The weird thing is, my life didn’t flash before my eyes or anything, which is disappointing because there’s loads of stuff I’ve forgotten and could do with seeing again, but coming so close to death made my feel cold and a bit ill for a bit.

Of course I expected to see the Police van turn around and charge back at me with it’s lights flashing but it didn’t, despite me so nearly killing both the inhabitants, because I suppose they knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was overtaking, they appeared out of nowhere without bothering to check left before pulling out. They were in the wrong. But even so I kept checking my mirror, convinced they’d be there.

Not having my life flash before my eyes is probably a blessing because despite seeing stuff you’ve forgotten, there’s loads of stuff that I’d find embarrassing. I mean, when I was fourteen I was a complete idiot. I’m an idiot now, but then… it was horrendous. Also, if you have forgotten something, does that stuff still flash before your eyes? Does your memory get rejogged? Perhaps someone’s last conscious thought before they died in some horrific car accident was ‘oh THAT’s where I put the garden shears.’

I felt like pulling over and taking a few deep breaths but didn’t and as a result I was so distracted by what so nearly happened, took a wrong turning and added about half an hour onto my journey. The more I thought about it, in a slightly self obsessed way, the more I realised that I was alive when, if it wasn’t for the road being quite wide, I wouldn’t be. And neither would the policemen most likely. I could have murdered two people and lost my own life at the same time.

Would you all turn up at the gates of Heaven at the same time? Because that would cause one hell of a row. “What were you thinking!� “Why did you pull out without checking?� “You’re under arrest.� “No I’m not, you’re not a policeman now, you’re dead.� “I’m still a policeman.� “You’re not! St Peter? Do you keep your job when you’re dead?�

Anyway, there you go. I’m a lucky lad.

The drive was to Matlock Bath in Derbyshire, and to get there you have to drive up and over the Peak District which is stunning. And great driving too. I wasn’t in the mood for leaning into the bends and keeping the revs up after what had happened but still, it’s stunning. Completely desolate and almost forbidding, but beautiful none the less. It’s the sort of place they’d test cars in Top Gear.

The road winds it’s way across this untameable landscape and it takes you much longer than you expect to get anywhere, but eventually you descend down into lovely Buxton and from there an equally stunning road, through a lush valley, leads you the remaining twenty miles to Matlock.

It was about eight in the evening and the horizontal sunlight made everything very vivid. You follow the River Derwent and it passes through glades and meadows, it’s really quite breathtaking. I tell you, it’s like I said about Staffordshire last Wednesday, that area of north-central England is just amazing. Not that it’s a secret, but it never receives the press the Lake District gets. I think it’s equal.

When I’d looked at the village of Matlock Bath on the map before leaving, it didn’t occur to me that I might have been there before, but I have – when I was about ten. There’s a cable car ride called The Heights Of Abraham, and I remember going on it with the folks. The whole village, as well as being wonderfully picturesque, is now a tourist destination and along with the shops selling camping equipment and stuff for walkers there’s lots of fish and chip shops and amusement arcades. It’s a great place, why not go for the day soon?

No – got for the night. I had a gig to do and didn’t fancy the lengthy and testing drive back over the mountains to Liverpool at midnight when I was tired (I’d got lucky once today – the least driving the better) and so checked into the beautiful Hodgkinson’s Hotel, which I picked at random because it had a striking turquoise door. A Czech girl called Yvettea told me she had one room left and gave me a great rate for single occupancy. It was about a tenner more than that pit I stayed at in Blackburn the other day and couldn’t have been further removed. A beautiful old Victorian room, lovely bed, lovely furniture, dimly lit, lovely upholstery… wooden closet shower. It was amazing. I didn’t really want to do the gig now, I wanted to sit in this room with a pipe.

But I did have to do the gig and it was a good laugh in the ballroom of a place called The Fish Pond. Not many in the audience but they were friendly and I messed about with stories, including a fictional one about when I visited the Heights Of Abraham as a ten year old. It was something along the lines of my Mum asking why they built it here and my brother saying, with the naivity of a seven year old, that it was obvious why they did, it was the only place they knew of which a big steel cable running up a hillside on massive metal supports. This sort of led into the idea of things like cable cars only being built where the infastructure already exists, they just need to add the cars.

“You know Matlock Bath?�

“The place with the big cable mysteriously running up the hillside?�

“That’s it. You know what that’s crying out for don’t you?�

“Fun fair?�

“A cable car!�

“Right! Yeah… obvious.�

I might try and do a proper routine around that. That’s the good thing about these nice, relaxed little gigs, you can try stuff out.

After the show I went to a local pub called The Princess Victoria and found them still serving after hours. “What time do you shut?� I asked the barmaid. She just shrugged. I love pubs like that – all pubs should be like it. To hell with the law. I had a few pints and a few brandies and went back to the hotel happy and sleepy.

But people were still up, despite me being told there’d be nobody about after eleven, and it turned out it was Yvettea’s last night after five years of service. So we got the Champagne out and had a fine old time. I went to bed at about four, drunk as a skunk.

What a wonderful hotel. The best value I’ve ever experienced, beautiful rooms, beautiful place, and extremely friendly people. Go there. It’s a new law.

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