February 19th – Still working long hours and not finding much time or energy for anything else, but hopefully things will ease a bit next week. Winter returned with wet vengeance this morning with driving rain and a headwind. I battled my way into Darlaston, which looked grey and lifeless.
At least the chap waiting for his breakfast at the canteen window on Station Street had cover, of sorts.
February 18th – Next door to Kings Hill Park, the former methodist church is steadily being converted into flats. It will be interesting to see the result, and how well executed it is. In the meantime, the vegetation has been cut from around it revealing a rather interesting foundation stone.
I hadn’t noticed before, but the lead has been stolen from the building and the roofs and gables are in a parlous state. That won’t be a cheap fix.
February 18th – A sweet and sad little mystery in Kings Hill Park, Darlaston, I noticed whilst taking a shortcut back from Wednesbury. A young sapling, not long planted in the corner of the park. Surrounded by daffodils getting ready to bloom, a unattributed heart-shaped wreath, and a single red rose.
A valentines verse, and the date 14th February 1991.
I have no idea. But it caught me unawares on a sunny, springlike morning. Sad, and yet so sweet.
February 17th – In Kings Hill Park, two firsts for the year; my first snowdrops and crocuses. The snowdrops seem very few and far between this year, and those around seem small and spindly. Can’t be their year. No such issues with the crocuses.
I think this spring idea might just work. The seasons wheel moves on another tooth. Bring it on.
February 17th – Darlaston, again. What a difference a day made. Spring was in the air, the sun on my face and warmth in my heart.
Shame about the trees in front of St. Lawrence’s Church. They make it impossible to get a decent angle on one of the finest churches hereabouts.
February 15th – A grey, lightless day, but still atmospheric. I popped out at lunchtime, not wanting to go too far as I was still resting and in recovery mode.
I slid up to Chasewater on the canal, and my favourite tree at Home Farm looked skeletal against the mist. The canal itself was deathly still, and I saw few people around. A tough day to take photos, and not a great riding day, either; but I did enjoy the spin.
Hopefully the weather will brighten and we’ll get a touch of spring soon…
February 14th – Down in Stonnall, it was a wet and murky night, and the lights of the two pubs in the village shone out like homely beacons as I rode past. The Royal Oak is quite different in character and clientele to the Old Swan which is I guess the reason the two survive, although both have felt the cold wind of commercial pressure in recent years.
Tonight, glancing in as I freewheeled past, both seemed reasonably full, which can only be good news. Decent pubs make for good communities.
February 14th – A day spent sleeping, relaxing, and catching up. I had business in Stonnall in the evening, so nipped down there. Progress was slow. I was still tired.
On the Chester Road just past the houses – at the spot once colloquially referred to as ‘death mile’ or ‘mad mile’ after so many accidents – new speed restriction signs have appeared. ‘Please drive carefully’. I’ve never understood this rubbish, personally.
(Death Mile became much, much safer after the road was modified in the 1990s.)
For starters, much of the traffic passing will be too fast to read anything other than the restriction; and secondly, who the hell decides to drive with wicked abandon only to later correct their behaviour because some quango or councillor decided to ask them to drive nicely in 180-point Helvetica Black?
There is something interesting here, though. That sign didn’t originally say Shire Oak; that legend has been added on a foil applied over other text, which could possibly say ‘Brownhills’, but I can’t decide.
Are the folk on the Hill too posh and are now pushing for independence? In these straitened days, does anyone really care that much? And before the whinging starts, Shire Oak is indeed in the parish of Brownhills.
February 13th – I had another stop to make on the way home – Asda. I was so bleary I got scant few of the things I was supposed to get, and if you ever want to know what a supermarket looks like after a riot, do visit Asda in Walsall late on Friday night. It was like a scene from The Day After. Complete with the walking dead – me.
I poured myself liquid down the marketplace, and the lights of the deserted Bridge snagged my attention; the night-time workers were about – posties, shopfitters, sign people – but nobody else. The light, the colour, the wet surfaces. In a moment, this place was precious.
I smiled to myself, and rode slowly, inexorably home. I remember very little of the journey, except it took me 45 minutes.
February 12th – Just a stones throw away in the wonderfully named Crescent Road, this odd… garage? Stable? Workshop?
In similar red terracotta bricks, this crumbling edifice sits between the back of the Town Hall (itself a work of gorgeous red brick Franco-Gothic Victoriana) and the similarly grand Police Station. I never noticed this before, yet I pass it loads. I looks like a workshop or garage, I’m thinking possibly for a fire engine or similar. Anyone know what the roundel represents or signifies?
Sadly, the structure appears to be failing, and I don’t think those doors have been opened in a goodly while. I hope this is saved; it may be a lowly sibling of the grand architectural statements around, but in its own way a diminutive delight.
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