BrownhillsBob

December 23rd – I was aiming for a great ride; I needed to go to Whittington to get some Christmas food in from a trader I know there. I rode out as dusk fell, but this last Saturday before Christmas the roads were full of drivers – mainly taxis and private hire, it has to be said – who weren’t concentrating, or at least not focussed. I got cut up. I got close passed. The roads didn’t feel safe, and neither did I.

Rolling into Lichfield, my nerves were shot.

The city was equally odd. This was to be the last real shopping day before Christmas, as it falls on a Monday this year, and Sunday restrictions would apply. But the place was full of high spirited drinkers and stragglers, and the atmosphere was quite hostile. I took some hurried shots, and rode home.

Not as festive as I’d hoped, to be honest…

December 22nd – Often if I’ve had a long day away, I come to see Morris, the Brownhills Colossus, as his creator John McKenna called him. I have mixed feelings that are well known about the origins and personal politics surrounding Morris, the Brownhills Miner but I do love him to bits. Seeing this 30 foot demonstration of finite element modelling always makes me feel at home now.

Just wish they’d fix the spotlights.

I love how, at Christmas, the lights on the trees give the sculpture a little bit of a ‘Last performance at Vegas feel.

We’ve all got a bit of Vegas in us. Especially Morris.

Rock on my metal mate. Rock on.

December 22nd – I’d had a day Christmas shopping in Buxton by train, and came home hungry. Feeling the takeaway urge, I headed out for fresh air to stretch my muscles and bag a decent curry.

Where else do you go to recharge late on a quiet, dark Friday night in Brownhills?

I guess the wind blew me this way. The canal was still, the boats peaceful, with just a hint of woodsmoke.

I love how this town can be so unexpectedly beautiful.

December 21st – And this is the reason for my sudden optimism. Today is the winter solstice, or shortest day. From here, everything gets better, because the light trickles steadily back into my darkened soul.

The bike GPS tells me the sunrise and sunset times on the main screen, as I love to watch them daily. Today, the sun rose around 8:16am, and set around 3:54. I’ve watched these times all year, and registered the slow acceleration of nightfall from Midsummer, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, minute by precious minute; then cascading and careering through the midway and the end of British Summer Time. Slowing up again, that last push to before 4pm is crushing when it happens.

By the time I return to work after this, my final commute of 2017, the sunset will already be past 4pm. And no matter what the winter brings, inexorably, unalterably, the GPS will record the gradual steps into the light. And then, at the end of March, I will emerge blinking into the light evenings as British Summer Time commences again.

I have survived the oncoming dark for another year. All I need to dow now is watch the darkness retreat.

December 21st – I had to return to Shenstone to pick something up I’d spotted the day before, so rode over there on my way back from Darlaston.

Whilst there, a lovely, Christmassy, almost Dickensian image – the florist’s shop, closed for the night, but subtly festive.

Really into this Solstice/Chrismas thing now. And there’s a big reason for that….

December 20th – Returning through Shenstone, I popped into the village to the shop on an errand. Coming back down the village, I was reminded what a handsome pub The Railway is.

The extension in the foreground was once a chapel, then a butcher’s shop, but is now part of the stone-flagged lounge and has a large window it’s great to sit by and watch the world go by.

A lovely pub I’d almost forgotten about.

December 20th – Spotted in Telford on a very brief visit at the new footbridge project, this will only be of interest to those into civil engineering.

The absolute worst sheet metal piling job I’ve ever seen. Not the varying depths – that can be normal, and they’d but cut level afterward; but the sheets are designed to go in true and interlock.

Were they piling guys on the pop?

December 19th – It’s starting to feel a lot like Christmas. The office at work is emptying of people as they drift off on holiday, the roads are quieter at rush hour, and as I gradually get my year-end tasks completed, I relax and enjoy the sights a bit more, like this Christmas tree, unusually lit by subtle, static lights in a Rushall garden.

As I stopped to answer a text, I noticed it and the way the lights glinted off the needles. It was beautiful, so I thought I’d capture it for posterity.

Merry Christmas folks, not long to go now…

December 19th – The weather was really warming up – indeed, it felt positively tropical on my first daylight commute for ages into Darlaston – but the hazards were still there, lurking, just waiting to steal my wheels; short patches of shaded road that get little sun on industrial estates and minor roads still hosted lumps of meltwater-lubricated solid ice that were hard to navigate and chillingly jarring when ridden over.

I’ll be glad when the ice goes.

December 18th – I did return however in mist which was pretty eerie – coming back from Shenstone I was wary of ice but the biggest issues were remarkably daft driving (overtaking on a bend in reduced visibility?) and a huge pothole I narrowly missed in Cranebrrok Lane.

My muse, Shensone Station, looks excellent in mist with it’s metal halide lights, and rolling into an ethereal Brownhills from Shire Oak in the orange glow of sodium streetlights was pretty beautiful too, despite the traffic.