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October 6th – For reasons too complicated to go into here, my moaning about the daily routine and the greyness of life and the weather were heeded by fate and I found myself visiting Matlock and Matlock Bath in the afternoon on a work related trip. Having to leave a vehicle behind, I’d taken my bike and had a ride down the A6.

Matlock is a nice enough town, with some great architecture, but could do with a little more variety in the shops. But I have to say on the whole it’s a classic Derbyshire river-valley town; beautiful, unpretentious and charming.

Further south, at Matlock Bath, things were a shade more grim. Matlock Bath seems to have been in steady decline since I first visited the place in the 1980s. A tourist stop off and motorcyclist haunt, this odd little town clings to the Derwent gorge with an air of faded, seedy seaside glamour. There must be eight or more chip shops; several sweet shops selling exactly the same stuff, and more than a handful of jaded amusement arcades and pubs. 

The architecture and riverside are beautiful; but there are many closed shops and it’s hard to escape the feeling of something passed from life, if not exactly to death, then to some sort of ghost existence.

But then again, it’s possible that Matlock Bath has been like this ever since it’s heyday in the Victorian years. The place reminded me of one of those lost seaside resorts that were once locally popular but now are only half remembered, like Rhyl or Withernsea. 

Perhaps it was the season and the weather, but the sadness of this place was almost enjoyable. 

Perhaps on a sunny, summer day it acquaints itself better.

October 5th – A headache-grey, overcast and unpleasant day that was as grim and hard to face as the weather on the commute. Work is challenging at the moment and leaving me incredibly tired, day after day.

I’ve never known a summer end so abruptly and just dive headlong into a grim, grey, lifeless autumn like this – yes, the fungi is plentiful and the trees beautiful; but day after day the grey, sunshineless gloom is hard work.

I need a holiday. Returning home via a gloomy Catshill Junction, I was, for once fed up of the view.

October 2nd – This has really, really surprised me. Mooching about the industrial estate where I work in Darlaston, I was looking for some paperwork that had blown up the road, and retrieving it from a hedge, spotted these beauties thriving beneath.

I see earth star fungus on Clayhanger Common in December, but wasn’t aware they grew this early. Looking like they’re clay or plastic, they are the most extraordinary fungi I’ve ever seen, and finding them is a real treat – there is a whole colony there, growing undisturbed in a roadside bed hardly anyone would ever notice.

Amusingly, Tumblr (the blog platform this journal runs on) has a system that automatically scans images posted, and detected these photos as being indecent. Sent for re-review, they were obviously passed as a false alert.

It just goes to show, some shapes recur throughout nature…

October 1st – In and around Hints church, the fungi is booming; most of these examples were spotted in God’s Acre itself, with some remarkable specimens growing undisturbed amongst the gravestones and memorials. I spent a happy half hour there, just seeing what I could find, all the time with the feeling I was being watched closely. 

Then the reason for my feeling of paranoia became clear – I was being watched by an elegant, snooty siamese cat from the edge of the graveyard!

October 1st – With autumn really bearing down on me now, no choice but to embrace it. I went out on a really very grey afternoon with a strong wind and a heavy heart. I went to visit a new cafe I’d found, and despite arriving well within stated opening hours, they were no longer serving.

Some businesses confound me.

Heading out to Canwell and Hints though, the season was setting the hedgerows and trees ablaze, the scenery was fighting to show it’s beauty through the gloom and it was hard to be down.

So I just rode on and really, really enjoyed it.

September 30th – A wet, miserable grey day when little went right and I really didn’t feel the love at all. I really needed to be out and get some air, but work was demanding and the conditions not conducive. I’m really missing that Indian summer I was hoping for.

In the early evening gloom with night descending, I popped out on some errands, and spun around Brownhills. In steady rain on the Pier Street bridge, I remembered how beautiful this place is in the darkness of even a wet, grey, loveless evening.

29th September – Near Walsall, my attention was snagged on a bright, sunny morning by a small family, apparently living in an open, junk-cluttered garage just off a main street. They seem healthy, happy and don’t look malnourished. Clearly wary of humans, but mum, who was attentive and nervous of me, stood her ground and watched her kittens closely.

A rare treat. I have passed this with the location to the Cats Protection branch as I strongly suspect these cats are feral.

September 28th – My quest for fly agaric – the red and white spotted toadstool of folklore and fairytale – was satisfied today when I visited a familiar patch that unexpectedly exists between the Darlaston Road and canal in Walsall. 

This edge land, under self-seeded silver birches at the top of the cutting, is host to the largest colony of these toadstools I’ve ever seen; there must be at least a hundred of them in various stages of life.

This is a remarkable find and confirms my suspicion that I’ve largely missed the season this year – they seem to have peaked earlier this year, but this spot which is quite hard to climb to contains some of the best, most perfect examples of the fungi I’ve ever seen.

All in one of the most built-up, urban patches of Walsall.

September 26th – ne of the rewards of autumn is the abundant crop of interesting fungi. Passing Clayhanger Common in darkness, I noted that some environmental trigger – damp, temperature, never sure what – has called on the glistening ink caps and they are everywhere.

They start as perfect little ridged caps, delicate and speckled with crystals. They age very quickly, and within 48 hours they open and decay into a black goo, hence the name ‘ink cap’ – and another 12 hours, and you’re hard pressed to find any trace they existed.

Fungi are fascinating.