February 12th – After a protracted and tortuous journey to Telord to undertake a five minute task, I needed to be in Tyseley that afternoon. The snow remained, and it was really quite cold and grey. A succession of delayed trains, grim light and relentless chilliness darkened my mood all day, so much so that when the time came to go home, I was glad.

I’ve been away from Tyseley for just over a week. I’ve really missed it. Looking from the Wharfdale Road bridge, I liked the snow on the terrace roofs stretching out beyond the railway to Camp Hill, whilst down on the platform, the railway signals twinkled in the mist.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

February 12th – Lunchtime, just in front of New Street Station in Birmingham. I keep seeing this lady and her pastel blue Dawes step-trrough framed bike. The front basket (only just visible in this hurried shot) is always full of shopping.

That’s some rake on those forks. Bet it’s a nice bike to ride.

February 11th – I was expecting quite a bit of snow, but we only really had a dusting. I was again in Telford, and the transport, mercifully, ran to time and I got to my destination without hassles. Telford looked great with it’s white jacket. Normally quite dismal, the urban scenery looked great today.

Funny how snow can bring the dullest landscapes to life.

OK, this is a bit odd, but it’s memories, and stuff like this has a huge influence on the things I create here. Last Wednesday, I noted that I had a love of railway stations at night and that I wasn’t sure where I got it from. I mentioned that in the late 70s there was a record label called ‘Late Night Feelings’, one logo for which featured a drawing of two children on a deserted station at night as an Intercity 125 went past.

This recovered memory has bothered me ever since, so I went searching.

Late Night Feelings was a label peculiar to Geno-era Dexy’s Midnight Runners, an Oldbury band who were hugely influential to me as a youth. The drawing of the station at night was actually on the flip side of the seminal ‘Searching for the Young Soul Rebels’ album, and is as beautiful as I remember; the train is actually an APT or Advanced Passenger Train, a tilting design that was never a success. I think it’s gorgeous and thoroughly encapsulates the period. I spent ages looking at that. I still have no idea why. Sadly, I couldn’t find a better image online.

There were three other crayon draw lables, two of which I’ve never seen before. They all seem to feature the same two blonde children. I’d seen the children in bed, as that was on the 45 of Geno, the massive hit. The other two are new to me, but I adore them, particularly the children looking at the city at night.

It occurs to me that in three of the four images, the children have a suitcase. Why? There’s a story there someone was telling. I find that sad, and a bit tortuous.

I have no idea who drew them, or if this has ever been commented on before, but this artwork was prominent enough to stay in my memory for over three decades, and I do think it’s an odd, curious little influence.

They were certainly a very odd feature for records made by the then infants-terrible of soul-pop.

To the artist: I don’t know who you were, or even if you remember, but I did. Thank you.

Funny how things stay with you.

February 10th – Returning along the wet canal towpath in almost total darkness, the going was hard. From the roving bridge at Ogley Junction, not much was visible, so I whipped out the gorilla pod and tried a long exposure shot into the darkness. Not too bad a result, really. It certainly shows how much of the residual light is sodium street light pollution, mainly here from the rear of the CNC Speedwell factory.

And it continued to rain. Rain, rain, endless rain.

Come on spring!

February 10th – Oh my, it was wet. Snow was on it’s way in, and it was cold with the darkness bearing down. I headed to Chasewater for the last of the light. I was intrigued to see how a week’s rain had increased levels. Last Saturday (2nd February), the water stood at 44cm from the top of the scale, today, it was around 33cm. That’s an 11cm rise in a week, or about four and a half inches. It now occurs to me that the top of the metre scale now being submerged may well correspond to the full point of the lake, which is, of course, the top of the exit weir on the Nine Foot pool. Jeffreys Swag, the main lake and the Nine Foot are all one unified body of water, now, joined through their common overspill culverts.

Even in the headache-grey half light of a bad Sunday evening, this was encouraging news.

February 9th – Shooting back home to Brownhills, I passed the old surgery in Brickiln Street. It’s now a veterinary surgery – and a very good one too; but up until the early 1980s this was the GP surgery for Brownhills. Back then it was tumbledown, dingy and old; it hadn’t had attention for years, despite the best efforts of the doctors and staff to keep it clean. After decades of service, a new surgery was built, only to be replaced by yet another at the Parkview Centre in 2006.

This bungalow has been healing the sick of Brownhills – human and animal – for decades.

February 9th – A grim day. Grim all round, really; not feeling in the best of health, and the weather was overcast, wet and miserable. I’d had a thoroughly depressing couple of hours unsuccessfully fiddling with bikes, and had to nip up to Walsall  Wood. In such murky, unphotogenic conditions, it’s difficult to find subject matter, but as I got to Bullings Heath and the Black Cock Bridge, I thought how quant and villagey the area looked. It’s true that riding a bike can lift your mood. From a feeling of darkness and a depression that didn’t seem to want to go, I suddenly felt happier.

Bicyclic antidepressant: cycle one, twice a day.