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March 8th – The year marches on, and so do the seasons. Slipping out into steady rain at lunchtime, I noted the Catshill swan couple seem to be returning to the old nest. One (probably the male) was loafing near the reeds, and the other was carefully weaving and packing torn fronds of rushes into a nest.

This seems way too early to me – but hen, they know what they’re doing, I guess. Wonder if they’ll top last year’s total of 8 cygnets?

March 7th – Spring was here. It was warm, but with some serious wind. I cyclied to Erdington through Sutton and Boldmere, then on through Witton and the canals; then back out of town via Saltley, Tyburn and up to Sutton via the Plants Brook cycleway and Pipe Hayes Park.

It was a great 44 mile ride in conditions that warmed the heart, as wells the face.

Georgina’s Way is just by Brookvale park: there’s a story there that should be known, I feel. Anyone know what it is?

March 7th – After the jumble, a ride into Brum on the canals and cycleways of the northeast of the city, and at Perry Common, north of Witton Lakes, a bit of urban wildlife that astounded and delighted.

A brook flows down from Kingstanding, collecting land drains as it goes, through Witton Lakes and Brookvale Lake, and it’s a lot healthier than it once was, although it’s still suffering from fly tipping and urban pollution. It is, however, clearly supporting a healthy quantity of fish, which this elderly heron was picking off like chocolates from a selection box.

He ignored me as he fished, 10 meters away, pausing and darting for small, silvery treasures whose luck had run out. He would then lift his bill, swallow, and once can see the fish bulge in the bird’s neck.

I was captivated for a good 15 minutes. This is great wildlife, in a very, very urban setting. There is wonder everywhere.

March 7th – Ah, the first decent ride of the year is always the day of Erdington bike jumble. Held at a church hall, it’s a chance to say hello to stuff I see at every such event (mainly bald tyres and old shoes), but also to old mates, acquaintances and to collectively jog each others memories.

Last year had been a muted affair due to a conflicting event, an I had wondered if this thing’s time had passed; but I arrived late for this one and it was still very busy. The usual old hands were there, but also the fixie kids and utility cyclists. There was also strong beardage from the hipsters. 

This is the kind of place where you find really, really odd bits you can imagine nobody ever needing again – like an ancient eccentric bottom bracket. I’ll let others work out for themselves what purpose that bizarre bit of cycling design serves. For cottered cranks, no less.

It was nice to see a venerable event back up to full health again.

March 6th – And elsewhere too, on the canal, signs of spring. At Walsall Wood bridge, butties are being loaded from a temporary, rough wharf from a derelict factory yard, ready to supply earth to a worksite near Catshill Junction. Growing from the brickwork canalside nearby, beautiful coltsfoot flowers in abundance, almost hidden from view.

At the new pond in Clayhanger, the scrub and copse still looks barren, but there’s a sense of anticipation, almost as if nature is waiting for the starting gun.

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 5th – And on I pottered. The dark and dusk encroached, held at bay as ever it is by the electric night of Birmingham City Centre. The traffic, the lights, the people, the susurration of thousands of unconnected lives crossing in this place.

To be still here it like being flotsam on some heaving human tide. I never tire of it.

Again, all snatched, all handheld.

March 5th – In Birmingham early evening, pottering from meeting to coffee shop to meeting, with a new camera to try out. All these shots were handheld, quick grabs. The image processing on the TZ70 is streets ahead of the TZ60. I like this a lot.

Almost as much as I love Birmingham – my past, present and future. I love this place with all my heart.

It’ll be even better when they finish building it.

March 5th – Never let it be said that I do not consider cycling a broad church; from the moment any of us owns a bike, we make it our own, unique. We confer upon it our patina, our personality and our individual stamp. We personalise, adjust the fit, add our own accoutrements, dial it in until it fits.

The handle bar area – christened by the great Bike Snob of New York blog as The Cockpit, is probably one of the most individual bits of any steed. I have a personal arrangement of controls, add-ons and positions on my rides that is unique, comfy and tried and tested.

However, wandering through Birmingham city centre on a dull  Thursday afternoon, even this easy-going freewheeler found a cockpit that confounded him.

The bars. The brakes. The light pointing at the ground. I’m hoping the owner has swivelled the bars up as a theft prevention technique, but I’m not convinced.

Coo, gosh! As Molesworth might say.