Shithole. Full of dickheads. Staffed by incompetents. But, I learned that Stella Artois is indistinguishable from Bud Light when served in a Bud Light glass. Here’s their website in case I’ve convinced you to visit.
Having already done one of the three new tram stops (Five Ways metro) for the ongoing Rail Run Project, today’s commute — planned to avoid the travel chaos of the current one day industrial action against the rail companies — involved a dead-reckoning jog to the end-of-the-line Edgbaston Village metro stop then, after enjoying a burrito packed for lunch on the ride to Brindley Place metro stop, a slightly shorter effort into the labs.
Traffic was heavy in some places (again, due to the rail strike) but I managed a lot of new ground just by taking a chance and failing then recovering and doing it again. The Commonwealth Games open tomorrow and there was CG themed hoarding hiding some depressing urban renewal zones that I really need to get back to check out closely after the closing ceremony and the subsequent clean-up (or, rather, return to bleak).
Yesterday, I also did the bog-standard commute home and noted signage on one section of canal to the effect of “caution, the Queens Baton Relay is passing thru” but the dates were for Monday and I missed it by precisely 24 hours. Volunteers lined a lot of my final approach to the campus, today, for the relay to pass through there, as well. Two weeks of chaos loom.
Saturday morning I had some expensive appliances for the new kitchen being delivered and Jax had an appointment in Olton and had already left for a rail connection when the delivery arrived. I shed myself of that duty and dashed off to the tram with about 3 minutes to spare to make the rail connection with her. But, we met at the Hawthorns and headed out for our Saturday adventures together.
I stayed on the train after she departed and hopped off at Widney Manor then, using the sun and my watch to poor effect, ploughed a serpentine path for 45 minutes then, pulling out my trusty old compass, managed to find my way home albeit through the less-than-optimal-for-running Sparkbrook markets.
So, there it is. A long run instead of working on finishing the house. But, tomorrow is set aside for touching up. the trim and replacing skirting boards. The stuff for installing the extractor hood, induction hob and fan assisted oven, and the dishwasher are ready to pick up on Monday for next weekend. It will take two weeks to get to the south wall tiling in the kitchen but the cabinetry won’t come till the end of August giving us some time to put in the under floor heat piping and retiling the room (we’re turning the tiles 45 degrees to make a diamond pattern but using the originals and the ones we pulled from the dining room and veranda area.
The run was tiring but I kept a decent marathon pace. A thirty miler looms but it will be MUCH slower and have better nutrition.
A bit lazy at the end of the week, I needed some mileage nonetheless. The new tram stops were compelling and I planned on two of them (one to and one from on the commute home) but, as I filled in the five mile minimum with the loop around the reservoir, I realised that I couldn’t give less of a fuck about running and bailed out at Five Ways Metro stop.
That will pass.
The new tram stop is kind of remote from Five Ways Rail Station but, going toward West Brom you can almost guarantee yourself a seat.
Expecting travel disruptions, I started the trip home Tuesday at lunchtime. With temperatures in excess of the previous national record high, transport chaos did not disappoint. Trains cancelled or delayed (and dangerously packed); tram cables sagging; Jackie even witnessed a stabbing on her bus.
The nearest I was able to get to West Brom would be Tame Bridge Parkway or Walsall then catch a bus from there. Around the corner from my bus, I stopped in for a lunch pint at the Tap & Tanner.
Cheap. Cool despite the record high temperatures. Huge venue with giant windows and a dress code for weekend evenings posted on the main door. Similar to the Registry across the pavements from it.
I regularly mock Brits for their abject terror of warm weather. Anything approaching 30 degrees C and they freak the fuck out (especially when they see me and Jackie head out for runs in that same ‘heat wave’). But, with the forecast warning of 38-40C — and being out of subtropical practice — I made arrangements to have changes of clothing stashed at the labs so I could do some commute runs in the mornings before the dangerous weather set in for the day. I’ve logged a lot of miles in worse heat but not in the last 14 years.
Emerging from the tunnel on the upper branch of the canal I caught a glimpse of a new sculpture added to the canal furniture. I’m guessing this wolf is from the same source as the owl spotted at the end of May.
The heat will break Tuesday night and the highs will once again be in the teens centigrade. I look forward to the return of moaning about the cold.
The two stations ticked off the Rail Run list on Sunday are both less than a mile from the house so I had to get creative to generate 5-mile-minimum trails to West Bromwich Central and from Lodge Road/West Bromwich Town Hall.
Along the second leg, I spotted the bolts, nuts, and hygiene shop, decided a bit later that it has an odd inventory, and decided to loop back around to get a photo. First thought of many was ‘thank Jebus they’re taking the security of this compound seriously’. Second, was a reminder that hardware adverts can be even more entertaining (like this one in Oxford).
The first leg to WBC station found me exploring some new-to-me trails in the Sandwell Country Park then dragging my tired legs up the long hill at Dartmouth Park above the reservoir to get to the trams.
Lodge Road stop is the next one over but deep in the tramline cut so the run started with an extended climb then an exploration of some of the side streets I usually don’t spend a lot of time on.
So, even with the addition of three new stops I have managed to get the (currently) remaining Metro stops back down to single digits (with 9 left to do).
The Jolly Collier is a lively house if you like horse racing on telly. Sweaty and not at all interested in the track, I took my beverage out to the garden and marvelled at the death trap garden playground and really fancied a ride on the cable and pulley slide. Maybe next time.
It wasn’t my first choice but my planned trail was poorly annotated and I got lost in the hills. Across, more or less, from Old Hill Station the Crown Inn seemed satisfactory.
Only the bartender was inside so I sat in the sun downwind of the crowd smoking heavily herbal ciggies in the wee shelter. Life could be worse.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 
