September 26th – I’ve spent a lot of time in Tyseley lately, and I have an odd kind of love-hate relationship with the station. Tyseley, as Ive noted here before, is now a heavily industrialised area, and has a mixed air of quiet decay and frantic commerce. The station, with it’s GWR accoutrements and air of very faded splendour speaks of a time when this Birmingham suburb was more genteel and rail was king. Scruffy, rotting and largely unloved, the station sits like a drunken duchess, quiety getting drunk whilst dwelling on past glories in some last chance saloon. Willowherb and buddleia grow from gutters, walls and platforms; the roofs and canopies leak, and everything gives an air of decay. But somehow, I actually think I like the place.

25th September – It’s damned hard to find decent photos in the rain. Leaving Walsall, I noted that the surface water problem at the Arboretum junction is ongoing. For some reason, whatever they surfaced the new road with, it doesn’t drain well. There seems to be a permeant layer of water of the surface, and that can’t be safe. It’s notably confined to new sections of the road, and I’ve never quite seen this before. Most odd.

Approaching Brownhills, I passed the decaying husk of the Wheel Inn, the lost pub on the Lindon Road, Brownhills. I had hoped something would be done with the building after the fairground people bought the yard behind, but little has changed. Walsall Council have recently been making noises about forcing owners to sort out derelict eyesores: if, as I suspect, the building is owned by Pat Collins Fairs, then that particular enforcement notice would be interesting, to say the least…

September 25th – After a bright start, I’d braced myself for a very, very grim commute home, the forecast was awful. As it happened though, it was just drizzly wet, and the wind was behind me. I think I must be getting inured, but I haven’t noticed webs developing between my toes yet. Coming up the ramp at Walsall, I looked, as I often do, at the overhead supply catenary for the railway. The complexity of this system fascinates me, and today, I could hear it crackle and buzz in the wet. Years of design refinement have made this system generally very weatherproof, and that’s a remarkable thing. The 25,000 volts coursing over that metalwork doesn’t take prisoners and will arc long distances in the damp. Railway people are given to calling the overheads ‘knitting’, and you can see why. 

September 25th – The mystery of the bean field continues. The commute home was grey and made grim by late trains, but at least it was dry. Coming back along green Lane to Walsall Wood, I noted that the fields of beans here – unlike the ones in Lynn, near Stonnall, hadn’t been harvested. They’re just rotting in the fields. Whether that’s the plan, and it’s just a crop rotation technique, or whether the lousy summer ruined the crop, I have no idea, but I’m hoping someone can explain…

September 24th – The bad evening predicated a bad morning; it was one of the worst commutes weather-wise I’d had for years. Thanks to a tipoff early on twitter by Aiden MacHaffie, I knew before I left that trains on the Cross City were shafted, and my journey would therefore have to start at Walsall. Heading to Tyseley in heavy rain, the usually assortment of bad weather bad drivers made themselves painfully evident. The trains were rammed, and by the time I found myself waiting at Moor Street, I was wet, chilly and down in the dumps. I don’t know so much about autumn, someone seems to have left the door open and winter wandered in. Ugh.

23rd September – This is an awful photo, but it was an awful evening. It does, however, show that the flooding problem at Anchor Bridge, Brownhills, has been alleviated somewhat. In very heavy rain, a pool still forms on the southbound side, but of nothing like the severity it was, and I think most of that is more to do with the physics of the road than any drain blockage. It’s taken a long time, and an awful lot of folks to sort this out. Well done to everyone who’s had a go over the years – from councillors to locals.

Sorting stuff like this shouldn’t be that hard…

September 23rd – A foul afternoon. I popped over to a freind’s house to do some bike spannering, and it was raining hard. Brownhills was hardly photogenic… But passing St. James Church I noticed the lights were on and a service was In progress. St. James is a good example of recovered memory – for most of my adult life I’d have sworn it had a clock, that chimed. I’d have put money on it. It was only after photographing it for an article 2 years ago that I realised it had no such thing. What I’d actually been hearing on still, summer nights was the three faced liar on the old Council House.

There’s a somber memorial in the churchyard to the dead of three conflicts: The first and second world wars, and the Falklands War,where local lad Barry Bullers fell. It’s nice to see the memorial well maintained. These folk paid th ultimate price, and deserve respect. There’s nothing worse than a neglected memorial.

September 22nd – Since we’re around the autumnal equinox, the sunsets get quite reasonable, just as they do at the spring one. Returning home through dark lanes, lights on full and feeling cold, this was my first taste of cold-season cycling. I find riding in the dark fun, challenging and mentally exhausting, and this ride more so, as I hadn’t done it for so long. But the sky was my companion, and it was beautiful. You’re never alone with a good sunset.

September 22nd – a bright, sunshine autumn day. A ride through Staffordshire. My goodness, it was nippy as evening fell. It’s been one hell of a bad year for the oaks. I’ve previously recorded the absolute plague of knopper galls around Brownhills, devastating the acorn crop, and I’ve hardly seen any unharmed ones at all. Out in Staffordshire the story was the same. The ones that aren’t victim to the tiny, drilling wasp are small and sickly, affected by the lousy summer.

I hope they (and we) have a better time next year. To me, oaks are the epitome of the English tree, and when they suffer, I feel we all do a little bit.

September 21st – Late afternoon, the heavens opened. It’s been a fairly dry month, so it wasn’t too bad. But it affected my mood: it’s now the autumnal equinox when day is the same length as night, and the earth neither tilts toward, or away from, the sun. We are now crossing into astronomical autumn and winter, and the driving rain and wet countryside reminded me of this. I feel like this every year, before the leaves turn and the countryside becomes once more golden. It never gets easier, if I’m honest. It’s hard being an outdoors person when the nights draw in.