Tag: sad

November 22nd – Coming through New Street Station at night, rush hour on a foul blustery evening when all the trains are messed up.

I’d rather be anywhere else than here.

Nothing sums up the deadzone, the suck, this awful time of year: no end to the advancing darkness, travel worsening daily, weather closing in.

And yet, there’s something awfully optimistic about it. You know that in a few short weeks, it’ll be over, and we’ll be opening out again.

Patience. Patience.

November 18th – A day of spannering bikes and a hurried test ride out late afternoon. The light was terrible and things looking grim, then a spot of brightness on Clayhanger Common – ox-eye daisies still in full, fresh bloom.

A great discovery on a down in the dumps Saturday.

October 6th – For reasons too complicated to go into here, my moaning about the daily routine and the greyness of life and the weather were heeded by fate and I found myself visiting Matlock and Matlock Bath in the afternoon on a work related trip. Having to leave a vehicle behind, I’d taken my bike and had a ride down the A6.

Matlock is a nice enough town, with some great architecture, but could do with a little more variety in the shops. But I have to say on the whole it’s a classic Derbyshire river-valley town; beautiful, unpretentious and charming.

Further south, at Matlock Bath, things were a shade more grim. Matlock Bath seems to have been in steady decline since I first visited the place in the 1980s. A tourist stop off and motorcyclist haunt, this odd little town clings to the Derwent gorge with an air of faded, seedy seaside glamour. There must be eight or more chip shops; several sweet shops selling exactly the same stuff, and more than a handful of jaded amusement arcades and pubs. 

The architecture and riverside are beautiful; but there are many closed shops and it’s hard to escape the feeling of something passed from life, if not exactly to death, then to some sort of ghost existence.

But then again, it’s possible that Matlock Bath has been like this ever since it’s heyday in the Victorian years. The place reminded me of one of those lost seaside resorts that were once locally popular but now are only half remembered, like Rhyl or Withernsea. 

Perhaps it was the season and the weather, but the sadness of this place was almost enjoyable. 

Perhaps on a sunny, summer day it acquaints itself better.

October 5th – A headache-grey, overcast and unpleasant day that was as grim and hard to face as the weather on the commute. Work is challenging at the moment and leaving me incredibly tired, day after day.

I’ve never known a summer end so abruptly and just dive headlong into a grim, grey, lifeless autumn like this – yes, the fungi is plentiful and the trees beautiful; but day after day the grey, sunshineless gloom is hard work.

I need a holiday. Returning home via a gloomy Catshill Junction, I was, for once fed up of the view.

September 25th – Heading home on a grey day, there was little to inspire, but whilst admiring the colours in the scrub near the new pond in Clayhanger, wishing we had sunshine to set them afire, I noticed a cat there I’d not seen before, presumably a ways away from home. A lovely ginger tabby, it gave me one glance, then high tailed it back down the old rail line path.

Even the cats didn’t want to speak to me…

September 15th – A bad day in many ways, when not much seemed to go to plan. It wasn’t very bad, just loads of minor irritations – and the weather; occasionally sunny and deceptively warm, but at other times almost painfully chilly, as if winter’s fingers were starting to get their grip on things.

The first tinges of the oncoming cold and dark are always the hardest, and this year they’ve come a lot sooner that I expected – but we have kind of got used to Indian summers in recent years, so perhaps this is a return to normal.

I came back from work in heavy, intemperate traffic having to make a call near Streets Corner, and all the while the skies to the south were showing evil intent. 

When I got home, mercifully before the rain came – I realised how glad I was to be back.

Some days, home is the best place to be.

September 11th – Inescapable now, action is slowly but surely draping it’s cloak over the shoulders of later summer.

I notice the leaves are turning (maybe a little early), and tinges of red, gold and brown are catching hedgerows and woodlands. It’s now sunset way before 8pm, and we’re heading towards the darkness at an alarming rate.

But the beauty is there in the sunshine particularly, and my annual dread is beginning to ease a little…

September 3rd – The day was grim and overcast, and the weather horrid, and I was wiped out from the ride the day before. I confined myself to a short ride around Pelsall, Brownhills and Shelfield via the canal and old rail cycleway.

From the day before, in shirtsleeves getting a tan and sweating in the sun, to this: There was an unpleasant nip in the air, a serious wind and autumn touching the greenery in a way I find sad.

I do hope that wasn’t summer’s last breath…

August 17th – A sad, regrettable tragedy unfolds in Rushall at the moment as the former Rushall Mews care home, an 80s-built single level facility that once housed many vulnerable old folk will soon be no more.

After four or more years of lying unused, the demolition crews have moved in.

There was nothing wrong with this place; the features were modern and it was well staffed by caring people and loved by the community. Closed by a council desperate to save money like so many others, we are now left with a care crisis, but the land will soon be new homes, probably beyond the reach of first time buyers.

Like other lost care homes – Narrow Lane, St, James, Greenwood House, Scotch Orchard – the gradual erosion of our social state makes me very sad indeed.