March 26th – However, it’s a glorious spring, the rain seems to have stopped and nature at least seems to be behaving normally.
On Clayhanger Common, small yellow flowers have appeared- my favourites; the cowslip.
These tiny primroses bring me such joy. Seeing the first of these is such good news.
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March 25th – The country in which I live is slowly shutting down in a way I never considered likely, or even possible. Little things that make my daily life normal – stopping for coffee, calling into the supermarket – nipping out to the park – are now either not going to be possible, or require a lot of planning.
I have key worker status, and for now cannot work from home. So I continue to be out and about, but always with a letter, announcing my status and reasons for being considered so, should the police stop me.
There is now a normal, defensive hostility from strangers – like this gorgeous ginger and white floof who gave me the shoulder in Walsall Wood from the opposite side of the canal.
We’re all in a grump now, I guess.
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March 24th – As I get older and wiser I realise that mallard ducks are just loud, shouty idiots with very unpalatable mating habits.
Here on the canal at Walsall Wood on my way to work, two males were competitively battling each other to mate with a female.
They were fighting for some time and the noise and disruption was considerable. Interesting that a coot seemed to be refereeing.
We are now under some kind of lockdown – I can only got to work if I can’t from home, or if I am a ‘key worker’; I can have some exercise every day and got to the shops. Most everything else is restricted or banned.
Unless you’re a duck. Then any old shit goes.
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March 23rd – A wet morning, and with the Prime Minister and clown in chief due to address the nation in the evening. Life was not feeling positive.
The morning was wet, and dripping. Rain stalked my journey to work and seeped into my clothing.
However, there were fresh leaves shooting everywhere, and early, very early cherry blossom, so it wasn’t all bad.
Some days getting to work and home in one piece and in good shape is enough.
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March 20th – I passed the Shire Oak open for the last time for the foreseeable future.
The lights were on. It looked warm, welcoming.The sky, street light and and atmosphere made it look gorgeous. People were inside. I considered joining them. Fleetingly.
What on earth will this country be like without pubs? I have no idea.
At least we can still get a curry… For now.
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March 20th – It was eerily quiet on the main roads too: Only the windy sweep of the odd car as I came up the Chester Road.
The colours were great in the gathering night. The view and the feeling was strangely beautiful – but life was just about to change in a huge way. It was announced that in order to stem the spread of coronavirus, pubs, cafes and restaurants would now close from this night forward.
Only takeaways would remain.
That had put a new, odd spin on the atmosphere.
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March 19th – It’s not just public transport that was deserted, either: The roads and towns are too.
Like something in an apocalyptic 1970s drama, all of a sudden people are draining out of view in this country. It’s most odd.
At this time on a weekday on the canal at Catshill Junction I’d normally see a dog walker or two, usually some runners.
But not today. Even in these final days of winter time, before the clocks change and light floods back to the evenings.
Very quiet.
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March 18th – Every day the streets are a little bit more dead. People are wary of each other. Public transport is emptier and emptier as worried people abandon their journeys and work from home.
I had to go to Telford.
I’m using sanitiser, obeying instructions. New Street and the train services I caught were eerily quiet.
This is a momentous time, yet it feels like it’s arriving by stealth. While everyone is… Out.
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March 17th – Returning that evening, I was again cheered by the stillness and spring beauty of the canal, this time at Millfield between Home Farm and Anchor Bridge.
The sky was subtly beautiful and there was little wind to spoil it.
For a good ten minutes I gathered my thoughts here, admiring the blossom, blackthorn and forsythia I think.
There’s real serene beauty in Brownhills, if you know where to look.
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March 17th – Unable to process the current madness as regards pandemics and panic buying, I find my daily reassurance in the emergence of spring.
At Shenstone, the currant blossom is pink and fulsome once more.
A sadly short-lived bloom, it’s a real harbinger of warmer days to come.
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