March 6th – Bloody hell Bob, not crocuses again!
Yes, crocuses. After the months of riding in dark, damp and cold, the brightness of the first spring flowers to me is magical, enchanting, life-affirming and beautiful. Like a hot shower after a long sleep, it’s awakening and you could enjoy it forever.
These are in Walsall Wood High Street, and remain, as every year I see them, a credit to those who planted them.
Thank you.
March 3rd – I was quite lucky with this, too; also handheld. The moon was my companion tonight as I rode through Sheffield and Walsall Wood, I noticed how bright it was. I love how if you can photograph it, detail you can’t see with the naked eye becomes evident.
All those miles of nothing between me and the moon. And yet, man has been there, and landed on that glowing ball.
Such a wonderful, enchanting thought.
February 28th – Another grey, dull day, with a worsening wind. I had stuff to do in Walsall Wood and headed up the canal to get there. Between Cathshill Junction and Walsall Wood Bridge, work has been ongoing since summer on the eastern embankment. First, it was strengthened with sectional piling at the Black Cock Bridge, and the level raised; now soil has been added to some thickness along much of the stretch, presumably to provide better security agains overtopping and to counteract weather erosion.
I note that on the bend that was piled, staves have been driven into the bank, and reed beds planted behind, presumably to create a natural buffer against erosion in a particularly vulnerable spot.
Wonder if they’ll get round to fixing the brickwork and voids on the pedestrian side of the canal anytime soon?
February 27th – A lot of the history of Brownhills, Walsall Wood and Aldridge is about what lies beneath. Coal, clay, industrial effluent and landfill have shaped particularly the borderlands between Walsall Wood and Aldridge. Where brick marls were abundant, soon voids in the ground where they had been extracted were too. Into these holes, we tipped refuse in huge quantities, as the remaining clay made a good seal against the contaminant waste.
In the early days, the landfill and waste disposal industry was unregulated, haphazard, and somewhat akin to the Wild West. Waste was put anywhere, and unmonitored. These days, it’s a tightly monitored industry that has to look after its dirty secrets.
At the Vigo Utopia landfill site just off Coppice Lane, gas turbine engines run 24 hours a day, driving electricity generators from the gasses harvested from the decomposing rubbish. This produces significant amounts of power from 2 generator sets in converted shipping containers, employing gas that would once have been merely vented to the atmosphere.
Nearby, a series of bunds and pools lined with thick rubber gather water and liquid pumped from deep within the mound. This poisonous soup is called ‘leechate’, and is allowed to settle out before being disposed of as hazardous effluent. Again, years ago, such concerns were not addressed and sites were allowed to pollute groundwater uncontrolled.
This is ugly, scarred landscape; but we are looking after it much better than we used to.
February 10th – A little way down the High Street, the pleasant church of St. John, another part of Walsall Wood that looks good lit up in the dark. I’ve always liked the elegant lines of the tower and church, before the hideous modern extension was added. This was a simple, understated design that has been utterly bastardised by the cruel abuse of the architects, who completely failed to understand the beauty of this church, as they did so many in the diocese sullied by their handiwork.
February 10th – Working late, and a late journey home through Walsall Wood to drop something off. I love this small but busy High Street at night. Still retaining a village atmosphere, the lights, pubs and takeaways make it seem welcoming and pleasant.
I’ll be so glad when the light nights come back. I think I’ve had enough of the darkness now.
February 6th – It’s been chilly now for a couple of weeks, and I now have my winter cycling skin on, and barely feel the cold. It gets you like that in the end; you become tempered, inured, used to the climate; so much so that you feel it when it warms up that much more acutely. I love being in this position. It means when spring comes, it’s even more joyous.
At Green Lane on another cold, icy commute, I was wrapped up and felt warm, and the barren beauty of the season really struck me.
I’d like spring to hurry up, of course: but I can live with this, for now.
February 2nd – Not noticing I had the camera on a poor setting, I took several photos today that came out really, really badly. By the time I realised, I was on the way home, and my hands were cold, and I was tired. But Bullings Heath – the area around the Black Cock Pub and bridge, at the north end of Hall Lane, Walsall Wood, looked great in the dusk.
It’s worth pointing out that tonight, it still wasn’t properly dark at gone 5:30. I’ll have me some more of that if I can – but it was a horrid cold evening, the kind that makes your forehead hurt and finds every sensitive part of your teeth.
I wish it would either get really cold and snow, or warm up a bit. This current cold and damp is the worst of both worlds.
January 29th – I love goats, and it seems we have a local herd now. In the field by Jockey Meadows in which I saw Mr. Fox in last week, I’ve been noticing the goats for a couple of weeks, but they’ve never been close enough for a good photo. Today, they were trying to get through the hedge at Green Lane. It seems there are seven adults and four or five kids, with a rather impressive ram.
I have no idea who owns them, and I think they go wandering of their own accord sometimes; but on a grey, cold January morning seeing those little kids frolicking, jumping and having high jinks was a joy to the soul.
January 19th – Again, apologies for the long-range, poor photos, but I spotted this charming chap on Jockey Meadows. He was embarrassed as I caught him going about his ablutions, but he mooched around the meadow a little before sloping off into the hedgerow. Such a fit, lithe-looking chap; there are few animals more impressive in the English countryside than a fox in his prime.
A great sight on a nippy morning.
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