Tag: bad weather

August 21st – It was a grey, damp Friday afternoon, and it felt more like October than August, and after a few grey, wet days I noticed the little meadow near the new pond at Clayhanger had lost all of it’s summer colour suddenly, like switching off a light.

All was not lost, though, as there are still wildflowers nearby – toadflax and honeysuckle are still showing well, and damsons and apples are adding autumn colour. Even a confused lupin was bright in the gloom.

Autumn can wait just a little while, can’t it?

August 19 – Some folk, of course, don’t even notice the rain and carry on regardless. After all, when you live on the water, what difference does a drop more make?

This cygnet – one of the Watermead family, still apparently in rude health – was just getting some greens as I splashed past near Silver Street.

I love the way these shoots are constantly cropped by the swans – it’s like their own little grazing patch.

August 19th – First really wet commute in ages, and the rain wasn’t cold, so it wasn’t particularly unpleasant. The traffic, though, lulled into the forgetfulness it normal befalls in summer, wasn’t so pleasant. 

I hate the way summer rain seems to make drivers behave so oddly. I was glad to get home.

August 14th – This one’s for Kate Cardigan, who was admiring the flowers on this very boat, moored at Brownhills, as some point on the day I took these pictures.

I’ve not seen this unusual, cream-coloured craft before, but I love the flowers and tomatoes growing on it.

Just the thing when riding through a dull, wet Brownhills on a miserable Friday.

July 26th – In heavy rain, a flotilla of swans. not far from the place I last saw them, cruising for all the world like it was a bright, sunny day. 

I don’t suppose they care about the rain. 

They had somewhere to be, and were travelling with purpose. But despite the horrid, grey weather, they just sailed on like it didn’t matter – because to them, it clearly doesn’t.

I should be more like the swans. Rainy days like this pull me down. But soon the sun will shine, and the world will seem brighter once more.

July 24th – I came home from work through Brownhills over Anchor Bridge, avoiding the towpath mud from the hours of steady rain. It wasn’t unpleasant out, and was as enjoyable as summer rain could ever be, but as I pulled over onto the footpath to take a call, I looked over the parapet and was reminded of something that’s been troubling me for years.

There appears to be a storm drain from the Lindon Road draining directly into the canal below, hence the brown mud plume in the water. that runoff will contain oil and diesel, rubber and all manner of road surface pollutant nasties. Draining it straight into the canal doesn’t seem right to me.

It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. Surely that can’t be compliant with modern standards, can it?

July 20th – It was a fast, damp ride home, and the light was terrible – thoroughly uninspiring. It was warm rain though, and quite pleasant once I stop resisting and accepted I was going to get wet. 

How nice, thought, to stand on a quiet canal, with no noise from people or traffic, and just listen to the music of raindrops on the water.

Even on the greyest days, they’re something to enjoy.

July 14th – A desperately grey journey home in fine rain. Totally uninspiring. Even my mates the coos of Jockey Meadows have – literally – moved on to pastures new, and the water meadow is recovering from their attentions. It looks good, although you’d not think it at first glance. But a lot of the invasive fast growing stuff has been grazed out, there’s lots of soft earth and mud turned by the lads and plenty of poo to spread the fertile love.

I love this land. It’s like a barometer of the seasons, and even without the coos, it’s fascinating.

July 13th – I headed to work on a sodden, rainy, wet Monday morning. It was a hard ride in humid conditions, when waterproofs leave you wetter from sweat than the rain they shield you from.

Pausing for a breather in Darlaston, I spotted the snowberry bushes in flower, spotted with raindrops. They captivated me.

July 6th – On an equally dull return commute, harassed by the threat of an oncoming deluge, I shot along the canal on the way home. Pausing only at the small patch of meadow – less than 100 square feet – at t eh top of the new pond at Clayhanger, I captured these midsummer soldiers: St. John’s Wort and the gorgeous thistle.

Come back sun, and make these soldiers shine!