November 26th – Out for an early spa and an errand to Aldridge, I passed through a grey, millpond still Catshill Junction. With it nearing December, and nobody around, this is a quiet, if bleak spot to take five minutes and contemplate the day ahead.
Still astonishingly plenty of colour in the trees from the late autumn, though.
January 3rd – My dislocation was compounded by the darkness. Despite the moonlight, the town seemed very dark and deserted, from the alley at the rear of the church to the footpath over the spot, which I rode over to Clayhanger to visit a pal.
Sometimes I hate the darkness. Sometimes it’s my best friend. Right now, I just wish it would hang back a bit.
Roll on spring.
October 10th – Back in Walsall, I realised I was wrong; there is something awfully special about Walsall at night, too, but for deferent reasons. In Birmingham, It’s about the rush dying down, about the custom changing, about the shift from daytime economy to night time. In Walsall, it’s about empty, stone empty urban space. Places that in the daylight one doesn’t notice, or care about, but in the sodium light make a different, slightly threatening world.
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