Tag: night photography

February 10th – I’m quite liking the weather this week since it’s calmed down a bit. Cooler, clearer, some great evening skies. Sunset now well after 5pm, which means I’ll soon be commuting home in the light again.

In the meantime, stood silent sentry, but buzzing with unseen data, the cellphone station in Darlaston was a beautiful contrast to the black country dusk.

It seemed to be trading secrets with that beautiful crescent moon – which, as my grandfather might have said ‘is lying on it’s back and holding rain in its belly’ – so perhaps it’s not a good sign…

February 9th – At the junction of Coppice Road and Brownhills Road in Walsall Wood, the junction is being remodelled for the new leisure centre, now nearing completion. It’ll be interesting to see what the finished road layout looks like, and how it functions. This is a horrid junction for pedestrians, cyclists and small vehicles, and it seems a bad one for corner cutting and being cut off from the right – particularly when turning left into Brownhills Road. 

I’m watching this one with interest. I hate this junction and I hope the changes improve it as much as possible.

February 8th – This was supposed to be a photo of the statue of Sister Dorothy Pattison, heroine of Walsall and a great personal hero of mine, moodily lit in a windswept town at closing time.

On that score it failed miserably. The old girl is out of focus, and the light doesn’t do her justice at all, which is sad. She was the mother of modern healthcare in Walsall and gave her heart, soul and life to caring for the Victorian sick, injured and infirm.

It does, however, show the atmosphere on The Bridge as I passed through. I’d had a dreadful commute again – driving rain and a headwind ion the way in that morning, and on the way back, the tailwind, although decent, wasn’t the engine-substitute I’d laboured against earlier.

A nasty gale was whipping up though, and there was a sense of increasing desertion and of collar-up, head down scurrying home.

It was fascinating and I wish I’d hung around a bit longer.

February 6th – I had promised not to moan about the rain again. But come on, it was rain all day from the moment I awoke until late into the evening. That’s not good. And again, that evil, evil wind.

I got out around teatime and did a quick loop of the town. There is something enchanting about traffic, electric light and rain, but I think I’ve seen enough of it.

All I want right now is a dry, calm and sunny spring. It seems unlikely. But I can always hope…

February 5th – Yet again on a Friday, I found myself cruising down from Shire Oak into Brownhills. The wind had indeed been evil, but was at least now more or less at my back. I had to stop to answer the phone on Anchor Bridge, and while I was chatting I noticed the view, from the very bridge I was contemplating the night before. This slope here is more or less continuous from Shire Oak, and the road here is wide. Where I was stood in years gone by would have been a toll house, and when I was a kid there would have been grim maisonettes here and over the road, a large tower block. Now, it’s new build and an old folk’s home.

These days, this view seems utterly familiar, but twelve or so years ago, it would have been totally different. It struck me as I put the phone away that change is ongoing, and so granular that one hardly notices it happening.

February 5th – I’d nipped into Brum late in the afternoon on an errand, and came back to Shenstone on a surprisingly empty commuter service. The wind was again building up and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant ride home. 

I love Shenstone Station. It’s like a lot of things in life – it was once truly beautiful, but is now aged, still beautiful, but weatherworn and a haunting reminder of something once glorious. At night in particular, it whispers of a more genteel railway age.

Leaving here on a Friday with a bad ride home to come, the one frustrating aspect is the steps. The northbound platform from which I alighted has no level access, and one must heft the bike up the steps, only to ride back down to the same level off the bridge.

It always seems a little bit pointless, like an assault course… but it’s always nice to be here.

February 4th – I came back to Brownhills late, and hopped on the canal from Walsall Wood. Leaving the towpath at the Anchor Bridge, I realised how odd the landscape is here. The canal, of course, remains level (473ft above mean sea level for the anoraks out there), yet the landscape rises above it gently, and the Chester Road crosses above with barely and undulation.

It made me wonder if the canal was channelled out here and what the landscape of the late 1700s looked like before it arrived. 

The night was chilly and blustery and I was tired. I suddenly realised I’d been stood for five minutes or more in pitch darkness contemplating the physical geography here absent mindedly, whilst freezing cold.

Cycling catches you like that sometimes.

February 3rd – That moment when you reach out for the camera to grab a picture at the lights and they change. Nothing for it but to stash the camera back as it’s still turning off and haul away sharpish.

Normally judge it better than that, but the lights of Rushall were very beautiful tonight. A least I caught an instant in time.

February 1st – A little over 30 minutes later, thanks to a following wind of epic proportions, just preparing to head into Brownhills.

Catshill Junction, long exposure in a wind so keen I had to hold the camera to stop it blowing off the rail.

This spot has become much more interesting since the new build.