January 22nd – One of the more revealing things about snowy weather is that you can see the trails of your local wildlife. On a gorgeously sunny, but very, very cold morning commute, I stopped at Mill Green to take pictures, and noticed two convergent trails of animal footprints. Clearly a fox, or foxes, there was evidently something interesting near the fence, judging by the trail.
Even in the bleak cold of a winter’s night, old Reynard does his rounds.
January 19th – Fearing getting stuck and feeling a bit cold (not enough layers!), I took a train back from Rugeley Trent Valley Station to Walsall. The service was running well, and was fast, warm and comfortable. I wasn’t, however, overly enamoured with the station.
With four platforms and totally unmanned, the station could do with some attention. The footbridge and platforms were lethal as they hadn’t been de-iced. Must say, it’s quite lonely up there at night, too. Sill, the passenger information was good, and I didn’t have to wait long.
January 18th – Hey, some real snow. The heaviest snows I can recall since the 1980s came today. It didn’t really start snowing heavily until I left the house for work. A long slog into the wind, and a battle to get to Tyseley, but it was fun, nonetheless. When I got to my destination, two hours later, I found they were closing in less than an hour. Never mind, I picked up some stuff, and cycled back into Birmingham, weaving through the gridlocked traffic of Sparkbrook, Camp Hill and Digbeth. Catching a train back to Blake Street, I wrapped up warm and went for a ride around the backlanes to Footherley, Shenstone and Chesterfield. A great ride, in the most dramatic, stunning weather. You can’t beat riding in freshly fallen snow. Coupled with the sensory overload of sight, sound and touch, there’s nothing like it.
January 17th – If you’re bored of the winter pictures, it could be a rather long week ahead, sorry. I love them, and intend to bore you with loads.
It was dry and cold when I left home this morning, and the humidity had dropped, so the mist was lighter, but ice still crusted the surface of my gloves and eyebrows as I rolled into the station. Diving off the Chester Road at Wood Lane, I decided to chance my arm at Little Aston Forge, where the sheet ice had been. The sheet ice was still there, but I just glided down the powder-dusted lanes. I adore this weather – possibly not as much as a sunny day in high summer, but I relish the stark drama, and the knowledge that in 80 days of so this will be greening again once more. That’s what’s great about England: extremes.
January 16th – When I got to Tyseley, it was snowing, lightly. It had been a very cold commute – the bike computer said -4, but there was a freezing mist that condensed in my eyebrows and froze solid. There was a heavy hoar frost that painted everything in shades of the ethereal – trees, the railway, the urban sprawl – and I think it looked amazing.
I love how the cold weather makes even the mundane and ugly fascinating and beautiful.
January 13th – Hammerwich – whether viewed from the canal in Brownhills, or from within the village itself, is always iconic and beautiful, even during a headache-grey, freezing winter nightfall. Bitterly cold, I passed the still-derelict Meerash Farm, which I thought would be by now thriving again. In spring, someone bought this place, erected a fence, and proud new gates, and lived in a caravan by the decaying old threshing machine. Now, the caravan is gone, and those new gates haven’t been opened in a while. A great shame, the farm commands a great view.
In Hammerwich itself, the converted windmill and foursquare church are staples of the skyline, behind them the red lights of Lichfield and Sutton TV masts lurked in the grey mist.
At the far end of the village, by the pool, the fingerpost for Brownhills was caught in the downlight from a streetlamp. I love this place so much. but it was dark, and cold, and the snow was smelling closer.
Winter, at last.
January 13th – It was cold, winter at last. I could smell snow in the air as I left home on a day that was so chilly, it caused my sinuses to and forehead to burn. I pottered up to Chasewater, delighting in riding over the icy puddles, and then over to Hammerwich, which is always nice at dusk. On the way up Meerash Lane, I pulled up short; the ice here – caused by water raining from the still-saturated fields, was thick and treacherous. Staffordshire Council never seem to grit up here, and I advise anyone without ice tyres not to bother. Under a fresh coat of snow, this could be an unpleasant start to the week in the morning for someone…
January 11th – Chasewater was also peaceful, but there were plenty of dog walkers, runners and cyclists about. The sunset wasn’t as spectacular as I’d hoped, but it wasn’t poor, either. I noted a massive gull roost, a welcome side effect of the increased water levels. Thousands of birds drifted gently on an otherwise millpond-like reservoir. I watched the dusk close in. It was gorgeous.
The water level seems to be stabilising right now; we’ve had a largely rain-free week, and it’s gained around 4cm, about an inch and a half since Sunday.
January 11th – Today didn’t work out so well. A failed trip at work, then a mad panic dash to get home. When I did, I hit the canal and headed up to Chasewater, as a decent sunset was threatening. At Anglesey Basin it was quiet, and deathly still. This is the kind of chilly weather I’ve been longing for; the air was clear and hard, but a shallow mist was forming over the canal. The only thing that caused ripples was the birdlife.
Peace, blessed peace. Just what you need after a chaotic day.
January 9th – A beautiful morning, really, and although not very cold, after the warm weather of late it felt bitter. The sun shone, at least while I got to work – and everything had a gorgeous softness to it. In the light haze, the railway fascinated with its extended perspective and shine, and the row of terraces that back onto the junction by the station continue to fascinate in their recursion.
Even the Tyseley incinerator – working normally, as it does everyday – looked impressive; it’s water vapour, not usually visible, was forming plumes of steam in the cold air. Magical.
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