December 18th – It was hard to find a point to take a photo from that wouldn’t be spoiled by rain on the lens, and then I remembered the dystopian, alien-like portal in Silver Court.
The ghostly glow is from a cashpoint. It fascinates me.
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December 18th – I’d been in hospital for medical tests, which went OK. I came home, uncomfortable, headachy and disorientated, but a cup of tea, some food and peace and quiet and I was ready to ride.
Sadly it was still raining heavily.
In a short spin around Brownhills the bike was coated in mud and I noted the overflows were in spate. It’s really been quite wet the last week and it’s not registered quite how bad it’s been.
Some dry, cold weather would be nice for Christmas I think…
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December 17th – Returning home through a darkened, very wet Brownhills. A generator was quietly ticking over by the waterside, and there was the clatter of Tesco unloading, and the distant windy sweep of the odd car on the High Street, but little other evidence of humans.
Brownhills looked somnambulant, peaceful and homely, and it was good to see.
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December 17th – The weather is still awful but finally finished the work paperwork, which always means that Christmas is beginning for me.
Just the medical stuff to go and a couple of days at work, and that’s it.
Leaving work late, I noticed the Christmas tree in reception glowing in the dark, and it made me feel happy…
Merry Christmas everyone!
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December 16th – Delivering Christmas cards in Chasetown, the light rain turned to a downpour, and although the Headquarters of Chasetown Civil Engineering and the nearby pub The Uxbridge looked beautiful with their lights reflected on wet tarmac, the rain had me low.
I tried long exposure photography on the Chasetown Bypass footbridge, but the weather was determined to wreck my plans.
I returned home wet, cold and despondent. This time last year, I think we had snow. Which at least is fun.
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December 16th – Another grim, blustery day, but I had a lot to do. Errands were undertaken all afternoon and crossing the Silver Street bridge in Brownhills, I noticed someone had spotted Dora the Explorer had probably been dropped by her friend and popped her for safekeeping up on the handrail.
A small act of kindness like this always warms my heart: Some bereftl child is probably missing this soft toy desperately, and hopefully they will be reunited by now (I posted the find on local Facebook to catch anyone looking).
Thank you to whoever rescued Dora: Your kindness was not unnoticed.
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December 15th – The weather remained grim, and so did my mood. I had a lot to do still, with work end-of-year paperwork still bogging me down and medical tests scheduled for early in the coming week. My stomach was not good, and the rain relentless.
At Wharf Lane, pausing under the bridge for a rest and listening to the music of the rain on the water was almost therapeutic, and sustained me; at least until it started to get into my shoes.
The return home was unpleasant.
That Christmas spirit continues to be elusive.
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December 15th – I popped up to the Christmas Market at Chasewater Railway, hoping to catch a little of the festive spirit, and despite the weather putting a dampener on things, it was actually a great event. Plenty of stalls with interesting stuff and some decent entertainment coupled with a decent butty in the cafe.
The rain, however, was relentless.
You can tell it’s a Black Country event when they sell exotic flavours of pork scratchings, though – although the apparent tautological pointlessness of bacon flavour had me a bit nonplussed…
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December 14th – Gosh, that was a shock.
I was heading for home early, but it was cold, so very cold and sharp. I looked at the GPS for the temperature – -2.7C at 6:45pm. It felt enough to freeze the bollocks from off a fox.
It looks like winter has arrived, my friends…
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#365daysofbiking That sinking feeling:
December 13th – Struggling up the Black Cock Bridge due to tiredness and another late night at work, my phone rang and I stopped to answer by the junction with Hall Lane.
This little, discrete hamlet was years ago called Bullings Heath and sitting in the lee of the bridge flank, there are many legends about the subsidence here caused by minewovrkings below.
Whilst there was sinking, it wasn’t a bad as purported, and these things generally never are, but legends persist and they suggest the houses on the left were once level with the canal.
Tonight, Bullings Heath nestled in the darkness, and was keeping it’s secrets to itself, and looking for all the world like a somnambulant, rural hamlet.
A historic conundrum.
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BrownhillsBob's #365daysofbiking 