Coming back from Newstead the other day, we stopped for a meal at Matlock Bath. I thought I was being clever describing it as a seaside town that has been carried inland and dropped off in the middle of nowhere but- according to the website- that's how it strikes everybody. It started off as an 18th century spa (my man Byron loved it) and now it's this weird-ass holiday resort in a narrow river gorge with a half-moon crescent of gift-shops and restaurants and ice cream parlours tucked in under the cliff. For some reason it's become a bikers town (think leather-grandads not Hell's Angels) and when we arrived around six o'clock the parking places were all chokka with their gleaming mounts and we wound up parking on double yellow lines (which we're allowed to do because we've got a blue disabled parking badge.) We ate at an Italian pizzeria that was set back from the road and had a back room carved out of the living rock. Ailz had calzone made with freshly home-made pizza dough and I had spaghetti with baby clams and it was all very, very good.