Author: BrownhillsBob

I told the truth - but told it bent. Wandering around bemused and ranty since 2007.

September 19th – Although only constructed in the 1950s, Blithfield Reservoir could have been here forever. I arrived following heavy rains which I thankfully missed, and the atmosphere was damp, slightly misty and suffused with beautiful light.

The reservoir itself was millpond still, and the wildlife as beautiful and fascinating as ever.

September 18th – Afternoon escape into Staffordshire, and I piled it in up through Abbots Bromley and Hoar Cross to Newborough to try the cake shop there. From there, I took a bimble over Marchington Cliff to Buttermilk Hill, and back via Blithfield and Rugeley.

The church is at Woodroffes, the isolated, beautiful church I visited earlier in the year.

A pleasant 70 miler. I realised near Marchington Cliff that I was riding the road that was the last place I saw the late, great Maurice Purser.

These lanes were his, and I rode in his shadow today.

September 17th – Uh-oh, in comes autumn. The days are still warm in the sun, but when it goes in, the temperature drops considerably. There’s an edge to the air, and in the evenings it’s started to feel rather chilly. Sunset is earlier and earlier.

From Catshill Junction today, the trees and scrub are starting to turn.

Autumn is unstoppable, and bearing down on me now…

September 17th – I can’t decide if this single, gorgeous violet blue plant is a harebell or bellflower. Whatever it is, it’s been delighting me every time I pass by it for over a week now, just on the canal by the Clayhanger Bridge.

Any opinions, folks? It really is a most beautiful bloom, and so unexpected at this time of year.

September 16th – Shooting along the canal to Great Bridge early doors I passed under Bughole Bridge. Can it really be 22 years since they rebuilt it? The Black Country Route – which passes nearby – was new then. 

I’ve never got to the bottom of what Bughole means, though. Anyone know? Like Bumble Hole and Devil’s Elbow, it’s one of those great Black Country names we accept without too much thought day to day, but when thought about really are quite preposterous.

September 16th – Not really sure what’s going on here but it snagged my attention as I cycled past: at St. Mark’s Church in Shelfield, there seems to be some kind of scarecrow festival going on.

It all looks very jolly, and I particularly liked the two chaps on the roof, but a bit unsure why the ones by the front door are apparently in jail…

September 15th – Catshill Junction Bridge has had this horrid step for years. There used to be a concrete ramp between the footpath and the bridge deck, but it broke up and washed away in the rain.

The Canal and River Trust have been asked to repair this on multiple occasions, to no avail.

Yesterday, they announced that a crew would be out on Wednesday ‘to make it accessible’.

I’ll believe it when I see it…

September 15th – It was an intemperate commute, the traffic was mad and the weather highly changeable, derring between azure blue skies and sudden, hectoring bursts of rain.

On the canal in central Walsall, there was little to indicate autumn here in green nowhere, with just blue skies, verdant foliage and mirror-like water. Only the saturated towpath spoke of the untrustworthy weather.

September 14th – Also prolific at the moment are the squirrels, who are eating for winter. Near the Watermead estate on the towpath by the hazel  hedge, the way is littered with expertly nibbled shells, harvested for their fatty, milky goodness by the grey, furry nut-bandits.

There’s a real feeling at the moment of nature preparing to shut down for winter.