I made my way through heavy rain to the Towers Inn with this picture from 75 years ago in my mind’s eye. It was very disappointing to see it painted in the blue-and-white Sizzlin’ livery, but at least there’s a pub in the neighbourhood for the locals.
Inside, you can listen to punters who were old in the original photo describe in detail the ailments they have developed in more recent times. From the looks of the culinary carnage on their tables you would not find anything interesting in a discussion of their appetites.
The Badshah Palace is a lovely building and well preserved considering the delicate, 93-year-old brickwork. I reckon that some of it is replaced since I was unable to locate the cut benchmark on it ( and the bolt that constitutes Triangulation Point 18454 is somewhere, inaccessible, on the roof). Here it is in its original glory showing a Jean Harlow film):
It was a drenchingly rainy day but I did manage to find a couple of benchmarks, this one over on the Hamstead side of the canal on Rocky Lane:
It was right at the edge of the pet shop and the offie, shown below, but there were half a dozen others either lost to refurbishments or located on private residences.
The canal crossing, itself, was impressive though.
This was a section of canal I had run back during the lockdowns, well before the Commonwealth Games. Deep in the cut at the time I wondered where this bridge linked neighbourhoods.
That write up is here. It is dull and only there to show the canal furniture but if you want the crossing you’ll find it marked.
Of course, this trip also entailed a pub stop. Having started at the Beaufort Arms near my first unsuccessful search, the damp trek ended at the Towers Inn where the Cut Mark is still visible despite many layers of paint.
The area has built up quite a bit since this photo 75 years ago. As noted elsewhere, some of the customers this day were probably also here then.
Wank City: No girls for every boy. Try and get that Beach Boys song out of your head, now.
The running tally for the month fell out thusly:
A scant 112.5 miles, with the longest being 9.8 and the average per run 5.1 miles; 18 of the 21 new pubs this month were visited on runs. No physical injuries but my soul suffered when one of the wine bottles in my backpack broke on the run home from the supermarket one Sunday:
On another trot, I thought I ran up on a church when I spotted the exposed bells above — as a local pointed out — the Bournville Junior School.
Great bells above the Bournville Junior School
The arts & crafts sculptures as depicted in this oriel window and door entrance, I’m led to believe (watching out for an open day on this one), continue throughout the building and were all the work of Benjamin Creswick:
Grand details above the door to the Bournville Junior School
I usually emerge in Chancellor’s Court, on campus, from the south with my back to the buildings; but, on my way to lunch early this month, I strolled in from the northwest gates and looked up to see the rotundas (rotundae?) and instead was stunned by the friezes on each of the buildings:
The fourth one, at Bramhall, is a bit abstract but not really as jarring as you might think it would be when you are standing in the shadows of these magnificent structures and can take in all of them at once. As the trees leaf out, it will be harder to take in more than two at a time, though:
We spotted yet more art on our way to the canal path for a trip to Bourneville. The homoerotic statue near the outpatients entrance to the hospital next the University is called “The Good Samaritan” and features a poem called “A Proper Compassion” by James Kirkup.
A big, anatomically correct, statue of a bulldog stands just beyond the eastern end-zone of the University of Georgia Stadium (Sanford Field) [note: I’m informed it has since been moved to the West end.]. Graduation is huge at this large state school, and the procession of graduates has to take place from several directions simultaneously. In 1993, I was crowded in with a large group near the bulldog who were giggling about this and that (drugs and alcohol and youth may have been factors) including the prominent testicles at eye-level.
The plinth of The Good Samaritan sculpture
“You, there!” I shouted over, “Let’s have some decorum!” The children I addressed rolled their eyes as I filtered through to this gaggle of sorority girls nearest the dog’s bollocks and summoned up the authority that comes from being 10 years older than everyone else there. “This is a solemn event and you have totally missed an opportunity afforded us by location.” I unclenched my “oration fist”and reached over and cupped the balls. “Tradition has it that it is good luck to rub this dog’s nuts as you pass. This will be your last chance, for many of us our only chance. I, for one, will not lose out.”
“The Good Simian,” sculpture above a carpet store in Stirchley
I returned to my place and quietly explained to my fellow engineering graduates what I had just done on the far side of the statue. Looking back, the area percolated as the graduates of the College of Agriculture jockeyed to touch the orbs. As the procession passed, about 2/3 of the queue each reached out for good fortune.
I hope that I can, someday, convince some of my colleagues or even strangers of the mystical qualities of the reclining patient’s foreskin. Stay tuned.
Gate at canal path adjacent to Bourneville rail station
Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anyone really care? Apparently not in Aston, where this clock shows 4:15 on one face and 1:30 on another (photo taken approximately 10:45 am):
Near Corporation Place, this lovely, young lass is testing the waters:
No sadder sight to behold than a once grand pub lain fallow (looks a lot like the Hare & Hounds visited later in the month):
Newtown has little to recommend it, least of all the lack of imagination exhibited by the local taggers. Kudos, though, for matching the park colour scheme:
With nothing else to go on than our experiences with the Swindon Town Football Club’s grounds and the surrounding neighbourhoods, we have been writing off investigating the area around the Aston Villa FC stadium. But, on the day I ran out to the north from Aston University the area seemed civilised, attractive, and (most importantly) affordable. This might be a regular sight when we finally buy a house:
I reckoned that there has to be a metaphor related to the tightrope walker at the Welcome to Ladywood sign. Not so, it turns out. This is a tribute to Charles Blondin, the guy that crossed Niagara Falls on a tightrope before the US Civil War (and several more times). He also crossed the reservoir, here, in the 1860s (something I think I’d be willing to attempt if it would get me a statue).
So, there you have it: March 2019 is in the books with a red line under it. Like the two gents awaiting their appointment with the gypsy lady, I wonder what the future holds:
I reached my turnaround point at Perry Bar Station on a run covering the areas between there and Aston University. Thoroughly unimpressed with the neighbourhoods up to that point, I decided to cleanse the palate in the Arthur Robertson before looping back via Aston Villa FC’s stadium and the park adjacent.
Oh, Arthur Robertson was a medalist in the 1908 Olympics, from around Glasgow. From the looks of the crowd here, today, it’s not surprising they honour someone from so remote a location.
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 