Chatsworth in Derbyshire exceptionally cool. The inside, very impressive as well as oppressive, with paintings and decorations and brocade and oak and carpets and kind faced men in old fashioned suits telling you what this piece is and who slept in that bed, etc. The best bit of Chatsworth was undoubtedly the gardens, cultivated and calm in the middle of rough ruralness of the Peaks, but it being a chill blustery spring day I didn't stroll round them as much as I would have liked to.

Back in London now, have crammed all essential crap into coffin like bag for journey back to Oz. Can't say I am entirely enthused at prospect of 26 hours of travel ahead of me. I think that teleporting yoke they had on Star Trek and Blakes 7 could be for the win.

And now, to the Town, where a pint and a Rox is waiting for me.