As an infant I remember my parents taking me to Derwent Valley. Even though we lived in nearby Sheffield it seemed to take forever to get to the valley. It was when cars rarely went above 50mph and there were no motorways or A roads. Also at eight you don't have the same perception of time as you do when you're older. Derwent Valley had many magical memories. It was the time I fell over in a Rhododendron bush and everyone laughed, so I did it again, and again (remind you of the Teletubbies?). I even asked my mum to take a photo of me falling in. I still have the photo, taken on a Kodak 126 Instamatic. It was the place I picked up my first hairy caterpillar and rescued it from the path. It was the place where I heard about the Dambusters and then watch the film with my Dad. It was the place where stories of a hidden village were explained...at the age of eight this was all magical moments and those moments remain fond memories.