August 21st – Back in Darlaston, the building behind the town hall – for all the world nothing but a small, brick-built, ornate garage – had had more masonry removed, and scaffolding erected.

This is a sad state for what was the town’s fire station in the earliest days of the service to be in.

The site has been cleaned out and is tidy, and the further demolition seems too neat and level to be part of a total removal, so I’m hopeful this is the start of a full restoration.

I still have no idea what happened here, I’d be interested to find out.

August 20th – Also on the A515 just a bit further on, south of Yoxall – well, beside it really – a solitary, lone love-lock on the old Trent Bridge that still stands beside it’s newer replacement.

The lock – Wilko brand, so no expense spared – is marked N ❤️ Z with surprisingly deep carving.

I don’t know who placed it here, but I hope they have a long and happy life together, and I do hope more locks appear to keep this one company.

August 20th – A much better, brighter day for me, but not the weather, which got worse as the day went on.

Out for a meal and a ride with someone I’d been missing while they were on holiday, a ride out to a local pub for a huge steak blowout and then a ride to work it off.

There was no wind, and I started in sun; but it soon became overcast and the rain started. But for once it didn’t matter. Returning home 50 miles later in darkness and soaking wet was actually a joy after a wonderful trip out.

Travelling up the A515 through Abbots Bromley, I noticed the modernist, brutal concrete Jubilee Memorial bench, which must be one of the first examples of a very particular municipal style; and then the Best Kept Village trophy sign, which lists all the winners since the competition in Staffordshire began, which is actually fascinating.

I do wonder why that’s in Abbots Bromley, though, and not somewhere else. It seems very… specific.

August 19th – I was having a terrible day: I had plans to get out early, but the wind and weather were grim, and everything I did seemed like wading through treacle. 

After miserably writing blog posts, messing up dates and publicity schedules, I finally got a grip and went out, to find a bright periodically sunny late afternoon in which harvest was being completed and the fields of stubble were golden delights over towards Sandhills and Hammerwich.

The sight of that lovely church and converted windmill cheered me, as did the bright, surprisingly warm if short-lived sunshine.

A nice pick me up on an awful day.

August 18th – As I got nearer to work, I realised I’d just missed a very localised downpour, I love how the rain an light made Victoria Park look as things lightened up. Dripping gently, the green was beautiful and you’d never think you were in such an urban, industrial place so close to a town centre.

One of the many reasons to love Darlaston…

August 18th – The tidy little calico cat who sleeps with her tongue out was hanging around in The Butts, Walsall on my way to work: she was watching the world pass by from the pavement, tucked in nice and tidy.

I stopped to say hello, and she didn’t move, but didn’t invite fuss, either; we had a brief chat but she wasn’t interested in my company, clearly.

A lovely little puss someone loves very much.

August 17th – A sad, regrettable tragedy unfolds in Rushall at the moment as the former Rushall Mews care home, an 80s-built single level facility that once housed many vulnerable old folk will soon be no more.

After four or more years of lying unused, the demolition crews have moved in.

There was nothing wrong with this place; the features were modern and it was well staffed by caring people and loved by the community. Closed by a council desperate to save money like so many others, we are now left with a care crisis, but the land will soon be new homes, probably beyond the reach of first time buyers.

Like other lost care homes – Narrow Lane, St, James, Greenwood House, Scotch Orchard – the gradual erosion of our social state makes me very sad indeed.

August 16th – Another delight of the season, that frustratingly I couldn’t harvest: Giant puffballs on the patch of fenced off grass used as an occasional football pitch right in central Walsall between Smiths Flour Mill and the turn off the ring road for Birchills.

These are about the size of a football, and are pure white and lovely to eat. There were about 14 in total over the field, but due to the gates being locked, they were beyond the range of my frying pan. 

Nice to see these huge fungi though, looking for all the world like alien eggs.