Galleries

December 27th – I was out taking photos for the New Year Quiz on the main blog, and I found myself in Engine Lane (no, this isn’t a clue!) as the sun set. The green lane here is nothing but a mud bath, but it was beautiful, all the same. Considering the filth and fury that would once have existed here in the form of mining, it really is hard to imagine the peace of this quiet, almost rural spot ever being disturbed; likewise, the canal between Clayhanger and the Black Cock Bridge. Where I stood, trains once crossed to a huge colliery on the other side of the canal. The air would have been full of smoke, dust and noise; the canal full of narrowboats.

As the sun set on this very, very windy but quiet afternoon, it was hard to visualise the industry that made this community.

How time moves on.

December 26th – It looked like it was a fine cycling morning, but in reality, it was horrid, even by my standards. Everywhere is sodden, and a simple ride to Chasewater was awful – the towpaths were nothing but slippery, greasy mud, and the trails in the park itself were even worse. I was plastered in muck from just a short ride, and it was heavy going, to boot.

I did notice, however, that Chasewater is filling well right now, and is fuller than it has been for quite some time. It’s currently about 400mm off full, and this shows at the spillway weir at the back of the Nine-Foot pool as well as on the gauge scale on the pier. I wonder if they’ll let it overflow into the spillway again, like they did this time last year? 

It’s good to see the place looking so healthy again. But we do need a few dry days to let the landscape drain a bit…

December 25th – I stopped off for a breather at Canwell. A proud, foursquare, fearsomely geometric little church that was buggered, like so many were in the Lichfield Diocese with a horridly mismatched 1980s extension. The building and churchyard are still lovely though, and the porch was beautifully decorated. It’s a lonely spot, and I daresay few of the folk who pass it know it’s there, just off the London Road, nestling in the trees.

December 25th – A total contrast to the day before, Christmas Day was bright and sunny with little wind. As is traditional, a pre-lunch ride out this year took in Stonnall, Shenstone Woodend, Canwell, Hints, Weeford, Little Hay Shenstone and Lynn. The riding was fast and quiet, and the wet landscape beautiful. Even the young porkers at Shenstone Park were enjoying the sun. A couple of hours working up an appetite, I saw lots of folk out walking, kids trying new bikes and old timers like me just out for a spin. Best Christmas day pootle for a long, long time.

December 24th – I came back over the common, trying to see if I couldn’t find some Christmas deer. They sensed my intention and successfully evaded me, but the sunset was nice through the trees at Engine Lane. Everything is sodden at the moment – the towpaths, trails, bridleways. It’s quite hard going. Oh for a few days of settled, calm weather to allow everything to dry out a bit.

Wherever you find yourselves in the next 24 hours – home, work, with the family, away from those you love – whatever at all – do have a good Christmas. Remember, we’re over the nadir now; from here, everything opens out.

December 24th – It all went a bit astray. Time was tight, I had stuff to do. I wanted to get a good ride in, but the wind at lunchtime was punishing. I was visited by the p*nct*r* fairy. Then I caught the squall at Chasewater. 

The skies darkened, and the waves lapping ashore at the north end of the dam were something to behold. There was horizontal rain, snow and sleet. 

10 minutes later, blue skies and sunshine. I just gave up and pottered home, tired and wet. I just wish the weather would make it’s bloody mind up. 

That wasn’t a ride, it was an endurance test. Nice to see folk looking after the swans and geese, though.

December 22nd – It was a day of silly observations, really. I have no idea whatsoever why anyone would need to point out with some permanence where the roof to their stable was. But they did. Odd.

A couple of hours later, I spotted this stray, lost pumpkin, beside the London Road in Canwell. Unharmed but clearly aged, I have no idea how it got here; there are no shops or even houses nearby. What’s even more troubling is it isn’t the first such vagrant gourd I’ve featured on the blog, there was the one I found in Acocks Green…

Some days are just bloody weird.

December 21st – For now of course, the night is still perched upon my journeys. I came back from Chasewater along the canal in the dark, hoping to have another fiddle with long exposures – but the absence of moonlight and a wind that shook the camera made my attempts useless. Heading to Catshill Junction and Clayhanger Common, I passed under Anchor Bridge.

Barely noticeable to the non-locals who pass over it every day in their cars, it’s an interesting structure, the abutments and brickwork still bear witness to an older, narrower structure. I noted this as my light caught the brickwork. The wonderful local historian Gerald Reece had pointed this out to me in an email last year, and I’d meant to record it. Spinning on to Catshill junction, I noted also the road alignment rejoining the canal contour.

It’s rare to see a bridge so well accommodated into its surrounding landscape.

December 21st – From here, it’s going to be OK. Everything will work out, and the battle of the last few months has finally been won.

From 5:11pm this evening, the darkness has been overcome, and every day from now on the daylight will lengthen in a sinusoidal patten until midsummer.

Today was the solstice, and from this point forward, imperceptibly at first, the days will lengthen and open out. There will still be dark, cold days to come, but the madness of the closing-in days has passed. My depression that deepens with the clock change in October will now lift. 

From here, Christmas, then a new year. A couple of cold dark months, then spring. The budding, the flowering, the warmth. The season’s mechanism continues, slowly, inexorably, and I am in it’s thrall.

Every year, I feel this so much more keenly. I need to feel it, to feel the good days. But oh, the blessed absence of light…

Chasewater was choppy, and grey. The fine sunset I’d hoped to catch didn’t come. But it didn’t matter. Darkness must now retreat. Begone.