October 11th – Still, not everyone hates it. Near the top of Shire Oak Hill, my lights picked up a familiar silhouette: that of a toad sat on the footpath, nose as high as he could get it, enjoying the rain on his skin, motionless. He was having a ball.
He made me smile, if nothing else. He seems to be smiling, too.
October 11th – Coming back from Lichfield, the weather quickly turned grim. There was a real downpour, and without my usual armoury of waterproofs, I had no choice but to get wet. With every passing wagon on the A461, it was like being jet washed. I arrived home cold, wet, exhausted and thoroughly dejected. Why do I do this again?
September 30th – A grim and unphotogenic afternoon. I’ve been considering for a few days now, what makes the winter landscape so grim? Lack of greenery, muted colour? Or is the winter light different? As I looked out from Clayhanger Bridge on a previously beautiful view – lush and verdant in summer – I realised the landscape was still green, really. Still lush. But the light that was now dying, wasn’t kind. It was grey and unsupportive of colour. Rather than enhancing nature, it seemed to be muting it. Perhaps that’s the key.
September 27th – As I returned along the canal, something remarkable happened. A rainbow formed. In the distance over Hammerwich from the canal, the sky went from blue, to dark, to blue again, and then moved to form the most incredibly vivid rainbow. It lasted about ten minutes, long enough for me to wonder if there really was a pot of gold at Meerash Farm, but then, as quickly as it formed, it dissipated. It left one cyclist transfixed. Remarkably, all this occurred with no rain where I was. Sometimes, you’re just in the right place at the right time, and today, this was the case. I was privileged to see this. Nature, reminding us that it holds all the cards and will perform when she’s ready.
Perhaps autumn isn’t so bad after all.
September 27th – I’d been in Darlaston and escaped early. The skies were incredible late afternoon, and so I headed up to Chasewater, where I knew they’d be spectacular. I wasn’t wrong – they threatened a real storm, which never came. But in-between the rage-purple and black clouds, there were patches of azure blue. Photogenic weather, this is more like it.
September 26th – The poor weather continues. On my way to work, despite expecting a dry run, it rained; and also, on my return. I got the train to Lichfield, and did some shopping on my way back. The evening alternated between a searching, oddly penetrative drizzle and bright skies with a little hazy sunshine. Crossing Summerhill on the A461 Lichfield Road, I noticed the sunset was stunning. Lets have more of this, and less of the rain, please. Come on, weather, you’ve made your point…
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 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.
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