January 20th – I was home earlier, but didn’t escape the dark. It was light when I left though, which was something. On the way back I had to call in to Stonnall on an errand, and I came upon a hazard every bit as dangerous as the unexpected black ice that morning; in the blackness of the backlane, the road was flooded to some depth for the full width of the tarmac.

In my bike light, I took the best picture I could, and note that apart from the bike light, this is in total black; a mix of speed and grip-thieving water, marbles and mud just ready to strike out of the darkness.

Thankfully, I spotted it,. But be careful out there. I’h hate to think what this is like if it freezes…

January 20th – Then, as if by magic, the light appeared to save my soul.

Or at least, that’s how it felt.

I set out early on a frosty morning I wasn’t prepared for, and had a few interesting moments on black ice. But there was one notable feature as I rode to Darlaston at the same time as every other day this week – The sky, gently lightening to the east. It filled my heart with hope – and the roofs of Darlaston looked gorgeous against a bright dawn. This was much more like it.

Mid morning, I popped to Telford on a morning beautifully draped in a thin, opalescent mist. From the train it hung low over the countryside and was beautiful, and even the M54 wore it well.

Just as I thought there was no end, a sign of a new beginning. I saw the light, and it was good.

January 19th – Another late return, another dearth of decent photographic inspiration. January is always hard, but without daylight it’s a nightmare.

I rolled back into Brownhills at gone 10pm, and stopped near Knaves Court for a photo looking back up the hill. It didn’t work out like I planned. But I was tired and needed food, drink and a hug. This will have to do.

Some days, you wake up, leave the house, crawl across the open landscape under fire, then return, utterly spent. This was one of those.

Christmas seems like an age away now.

January 19th – Spotted near thee canal in Darlaston on yet another wet morning, this fascinating ball of moss. I can’t actually get close to it, so can’t tell if it’s some kind of parasite on the host bush, or as I suspect, it’s the remnants of a birds nest whose lining of moss took root.

On a grey, grim morning, the brightness of the green was beautiful in the gloom.

Sometimes you have to take the beauty where you can find it…

January 18th – A long, grey and damp day ended very, very late. Having been at  work until late in the evening, I only remembered to stop for a photo as I came back into Brownhills over Anchor Bridge, so I snapped one of my favourite local night scenes.

Despite being very, very tired, the riding was good and fast this evening, and surprisingly dry too. Although this winter hasn’t been wet, the last week or so has been sodden, and I could really do with some bright dry days right now.

So weary of the grey.

January 17th – Coming back into Brownhills on a very wet, stodgy towpath in the evening, I noted it was gone 5pm and not yet fully dark. The lights of the Watermead Estate, reflected in the still canal, were beautiful and atmospheric.

It has stopped raining. It’s been so bad in the past few days, the blessed absence of rain is something to be cheerful about.

January gets you like that, sometimes.

January 16th – As I neared the crest of Shire Oak hill, it was murky and drizzly and the kind of night you really don’t want to be out in.

There wasn’t much traffic, either, which seemed strange – but I did note the model ‘works buses’ – not these days going to Crabtree or the BRD, but shuttling workers back and forth between the Birmingham and Black Country conurbation and Amazon at Rugeley.

These services run seemingly throughout the day and night and I’d love to know more about them.

January 16th – A terrible, awful, wet commuting day. I got wet on may way to work, wet mid day when visiting a customer, and wet on my way back. The bike is so damp, when it catches the light it has it’s own rainbow.

I came back unusually to Blake Street, as the train I was on didn’t serve Shenstone, and it was just to horrid to come from Four Oaks up that hill. I stood at the top of the steps – the ramp is a long way up the platform, and the steps are quicker – and in that moment it struck me how odd they are. Open with no roof, they descend into a passageway under the railway. Painted cream and well lit, it’s like they once had a roof, and it was removed.

I wonder…?