Tag: suicide

February 3rd – Also on the square, the tell-tale sign of a secondhand steed.

This road bike – a Carrera (Halfords own band) low end job – has been clearly bought by someone who’s a wee bit too big for it. The saddle is so high as to make the geometry look unsettlingly wrong, and the steerer – the fork tube the stem and handlebars mount from has been extended by a ‘suicide’ riser. This is a device to increase the height of the bars relying on clamps to keep it secure. 

Often the clamps slip or come loose, hence the nickname.

Finally, the flat bars are far from original.

People, buy a bike that fits, even secondhand. It’s a lot safer and comfier in the long run.

December 4th – Circumstances appear to have dictated that sadly, these signs are now necessary at Blake Street Station. Sometimes, it comes to me that we live in a cold, hard world.

My thanks go out for the kind, patient and dedicated work of the Samaritans. Bless them all.

Nobody need suffer alone.

March 28th – Crikey, it was a long journey home. Engineering works commencing at the frankly bizarre time of 2pm today resulted in there being no through trains from Wolverhampton to Birmingham. Since my bike can’t go on a replacement bus service, I was faced with cycling to Walsall from Wolverhampton (I wanted to visit the night market), or find some other route. 

I was tired. It was very cold. The route from Wolverhamton to Walsall is horrid. And the wind was against me.

A quick hack with the National Rail app showed I could take a train from Wolverhampton to Stafford, a second service from Stafford to Rugeley Trent Valley, and another from Rugeley to Walsall. The whole lot from Telford took about 3 hours, end to end. An adventure, of sorts.

I hadn’t actually been to Stafford Station in over 20 years; it’s still bloody odd. One of several local stations built in the 60s, it has dated badly, and shares the same faults as it’s sister stations, Coventry, Wolverhampton and Telford. It’s a peculiar place.

Even more unsettling is Rugeley Trent Valley. It’s bleak, desolate and deserted. This station is unstaffed, and occupies a withering, wind-blasted location in the industrial north of town. 2 of the 3 platforms are an Island accessed from a high, steep footbridge, and trains thunder through here at very high speed. It’s clearly a place people choose to take their own lives, as I’ve never seen so many signs advising the number for the Samaritans. With every train that blasted through, the cold wind lashing me in it’s wake, I thought of poor, lost souls. 

Grim.

On the train to Walsall, I was comforted by Cannock Chase in the snow, and not far from the Goosemoor Green crossing, a small herd of fallow deer loafed by the line. They made me feel human again. 

Never underestimate the cheering power of snow, trees and wild animals.

October 10th – At Acocks Green, I noticed this memorial bouquet of flowers has appeared. It’s sad, and bears no card; I suspect it’s in memory of a young man who committed suicide here a couple of years ago. I felt it’s poignancy today particularly, as it was World Mental Heath Day. Anyone can suffer, we’re all susceptible. Please, if you know someone who’s suffering, do your best to help. Every day is a good day to walk up to someone, take their hand and say ‘Hello, chum.’ Sometimes, we all need a friend to listen.