Jackie’s commute started at 8:00 and, working from home today, I decided to go for a bit of a run before checking into the virtual office. Turning up in Sedgley, the breakfast beer awaited me at the Clifton which is in a former cinema from the looks of things.
It was quiet in Sedgley for a weekday morning. There must be ten pubs scattered around this village centre, so maybe everyone is just nursing the regular Thursday hangover (I definitely spotted some ancients self-medicating in the pub).
“Please stand clear of the doors and allow other passengers to get off before getting on.” — platform announcement as West Midlands Trams approach.
It would have happened more often in my youth, but I’m sure I’ve been told that I ‘look both ways.’
Checking my colours before entering I was happy to note only a grey t-shirt, blue sweats, and grey and blue shoes. But, the t-shirt said “University of Chattanooga” on it and nothing at all about WBAFC so that and my foreign accent marked me for disdain and suspicion in The Albion.
Something did, anyway.
Best contact tracing database system yet: First Name, Last Name, nothing else (no phone, no address). Asked the barkeeper about phone number and, for an answer she just shook her head, unable to vocalise over the phlegmy cough.
The Dalek reminded me that I had some photos from the garden over the weekend. The butterfly wings are dusty brown underneath and when they are folded together just look like a dead leaf. Clever.
The wildflower patch is in constant flux (lots of poppies that only last a day but are all sorts of colours and patterns). The marigolds, zinnias, and sunflowers had been lagging but have set buds. The Dalek sits down at the end of the patch by the bunnies, now.
One of the avocados has been pinched back. Some of the zinnias are further along and unfurling blossoms as I type this. The bees and butterflies seem content with this.
Went for a run at lunchtime and returned to find this Dalek composter sitting in front of my door. Hooray! Dug out a space for it and put some kitchen and garden waste in immediately.
In the early part of the run, I spotted the graffito, below, which bothers me no end. The grammar and spelling are atrocious but consistent with the material, the central dogma that this free verse extols. But, the absolutely indulgence of the note is breathtaking … not that I find it a compelling plea, but for anyone who does there are no contact details or indeed any clues about age or, as the format dictates, size of genitalia. And, then there is the ephemeral nature of the sticky-backed paper on which this placard was published. Aspects of Zen Buddhism and Quantum Physics abound.
And, there were some more traditional taggers that support Liverpool.
Did I mention I got a composter?
Only scheduled to visit the labs once this week so my streak of 8 consecutive commutes (and 9 of the last 10 possible) ends with today’s hurricane enhanced run home along the canals. Took some photos of other runners in the rain and of wet flowers against foreboding skies as the sun made one of its brief appearances. The winner, though, is the newest COVID related graffito:
The run home on Fridays used to REGULARLY have two or more pub stops. Today’s brief encounters with the Craft Inn and the New Cottage made me nostalgic for those times.
Also tugging at fond memories was the Pink Floyd themed memorial graffiti on the Titwell Canal (at which I stopped for a bowl).
It was a good afternoon to mix up the paths a little. That’s a commuter run each of the last 7 workdays. Looks like I’ll hit 75 easily for the year.
Continuing the Friday commute after the Craft Inn, I trundled along using my shadow as the directional guide toward West Brom. Just on the Birmingham side of the M5*, the New Cottage stood before me.
*(Long ago in this blog I designated everything West Midlands within the motorways that encircle it as more Birmingham than West Midlands with everything else assigned to the county.)
More of a restaurant, I got my cider and headed to the beer garden. The horsetail over the fence reminds me of the state of the garden at the house (ours is 6 inches, not six feet, though).
I was running home Friday afternoon after a busy and, despite the lack of any measurable progress, productive week when I spied the Craft Inn at the southern extent of Bearwood. I signed the track and trace book and headed to the bar. “No, you can’t come in yet, mate. I have to take your temperature.” I didn’t fancy the sound of that but it was less invasive than how I pictured it.
I got one of two porters on the taps (this place is wonderfully stocked) and enjoyed the sounds of conversations and hip background music. It is probably all you can hope for, at present.
I had induction to a soon-to-reopen lab today at 2:30 pm so it was morning at home then a late commute to on-site work. I opted to go a little early to outrun the rain that was supposed to blow in this afternoon and as I approached Harborne I could hear a house alarm. Then another. Entering a residential area, every house with an alarm was chirping.
Shit. Electrical issues. I headed straight to the labs from there arriving just as the staff were evacuating due to another brownout setting off the fire alarms. My dry clothes were in there. Shit.
So, I found out the status of the instruments from other lab denizens an went to Chemistry to reestablish comms at the FTICR (where a stinky but dry shirt lay draped over a chair) before heading down for my induction and the start of recommissioning down there. Whew.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 