Tag: old

February 1st – On my way back, the weather was more patchy, but changing trains at Aston midday, I thought of the great genius that was Nuala Hussey’s Stranded in Stechford (she lived for a while near the station) and of the incongruity of the Britannia Hotel, still with the great lady resplendent, enthroned on the roof, but no longer atop a hotel with dreams of majesty but a backstreet cafe.

Aston has changed since I was a teenager, exploring this place and the love I found near here. We drank in pubs long closed, and laughed and dreamed and made friends and argued and loved. We still do most of those things, of course, but Aston, like many places of my youth, is lost to me now. All of the faces I knew here except one have gone as I grow old, either lost, separated or drifted apart, but whenever I stand on these platforms, high above the sprawling morass below, I remember those days and it makes me sad.

Although I’m sad for the people I no longer see, I’m most sad for lost sense of belonging, and for my youth. But all through my life I’ve passed through places like this, made them mine for a while, then life took me to other places, with different horizons, and life moved on.

Aston is just a wind-blown, suburban and somewhat desolate railway station; two platforms and a junction. But there are ghosts here. And they haunt me so.

I felt old. But like my ghost, my spirit remains. 

The train came, I hauled my bike onto it and I sat down.

‘Are you OK?’ asked a lady in the opposite seat.

Caught unaware, I wiped my eyes. ‘Just the wind I think’ I said, ineffectually.

‘It’s getting colder’ she replied. And offered me a tissue.

January 2nd – I’ll start this with a note about time, and the passing thereof; long time readers will know I started this journal on 1st April 2011after being egged on to do 30daysofbiking by ace cyclist and top Dutchperson Renee Van Baar. Sadly, I was very ill with food poisoning the following New Year,  so never rode a bike on 31st December 2011, and 1st January 2012. But I carried on, and I never missed a day since. Every day from 2nd January 2012 I have got on a bike and ridden somewhere. From 100 mile plus rides in one day, to trundles to the shop, I have recorded my daily life as a cyclist, in all it’s ups and downs. That’s 6 years, or 2192 successive days (including 2 leap years), and about 55,000 miles.

I love keeping this journal, I love writing it, and finding the photos.

I welcome feedback. If you have something to say – that I should stop, continue or do something differently, please get in touch by commenting or mailing me – BrownhillsBob at Googlemail dot com.

I’ve done this to show that it’s possible to be normal, and on a bike. That a podgy, middle aged man who’s not a lycra fiend can ride to work, shops, for fun, to explore, keep healthy, be happy, enthusiastic, jaded, sad or depressed, and continue rolling down the road.

In the six years, I’ve had at least 10 different cameras to use, maybe more, actually. Some I’ve adored, some I hated. The Canon GX 7 Mark II I’m using at the moment is like Jekyl and Hyde. It was really good in the night shots of the last couple of journeys, but tonight’s attempt – a simple shot of Morris – it seemed to fudge a bit.

On the camera, the jury is still out.

I’ll need to ride and use it a bit more to find out…

July 18th – Today, the older cats of Scarborough Road and north Walsall were not apparently pleased to see me. I haven’t seen either of these characters before – but the lounging black and white clearly had no time for me and my nosiness, while the black-brown bigtop bruiser was watching me carefully.

It’s reassuring to see neighbourhood watch duties taken so seriously – at least, while the weather is so agreeable.

July 5th – Returning, I came down the main road, and by the old people’s flats, a familiar grumpy, curled up ball, sleeping in the communal garden: it’s the old gummy cat I featured here a couple of weeks ago.

Always nice to see the old lad, and I particularly like his truculent, just-woken-up air here. Such a lovely old cat. I’m sure we share many common traits in our parallel dotages.

May 6th – Only a short run around Brownhills and over to Chasewater as it was, not to put too finer point on it, bloody cold and grey, the day being more akin to February than May. I was cheered however, by the cats I met at Catshill Junction. 

These canalside kitties were at opposite ends of the age spectrum, and whilst the black and white one was a dashing, well-maintained cat about town who was all to ready to stop for a fuss, the old tabby with the mangled ear and sad eyes was telling a tale of great experience and no little fighting. 

Both lovely animals in their own way. That’s what I love about cats and dogs; one can almost identify with their personalities, tribulations and lives.

April 8th – Spotted in the meadow at Waterhouses, this venerable, grumpy looking puss.

Peak District cats are a tough breed, and often look as weathered as the landscape they inhabit. This white cat was just sat, taking the air and enjoying the sun (one presumes, although the expression doesn’t give much away). I like to think it was taking stock, and looking forward to another summer of hunting, stalling territory and snoozing in the sun.

As befits any older cat, really.

March 30th – I spotted this grumpy looking cove behind the railings of the church on Scarborough Road in Pleck on my way home – I think the people of the church feed him. He’s actually a lovely, friendly boy but for some reason he really didn’t like the camera much at all.

Lovely to see the urban cat population waking up after winter and taking the air – especially older cats I’m familiar with, like this lad. There’s something delightful about an old cat, warming their bones in the spring sun, feeling the stirring of the season, dozing and surely dreaming of past triumphs.

So glad to see an old cat feel the warmth of another spring sun once more.

October 17th – I’ve passed through Ocker Hill and Toll End a fair bit lately, and I’ve noticed this house at the top of Toll End Road near the island.

It’s old. I think it’s older than anything in the immediate vicinity, and of what looks like a very un-black country design; the only thing I can liken it to around these parts is the old White Lion in Caldmore Green, Walsall.

Does anyone know the history of this curious house please?

September 8th – People keep grumbling about all the cats. Sorry, but I adore them.

The characters that appear in the warmer days of summer – loafing, watching, patrolling and generally taking the air include in their number the more elderly of the local feline population, and I find them quite charming.

Usually dozing, washing or lazing, these characters have done all their rushing around, and are generally too comfortable to run off when you stop to say hello.

There’s often a world of experience in their manner, features and battle scars.

I’m never too busy to stop and offer an ear-tickle.

August 23rd – Like an idiot, I left home without my camera today, but on a midday train journey to Telford, I met this lovely old lass off on holiday to Wales with her dad.

Apparently Jess likes a swim in the sea, a bit of seaside fish from the chip shop, and a little beer in her bowl of an evening. And long walks in the hills.

I hope Jess and her dad have a lovely holiday. She surely is a gorgeous dog.