Wednesday, 21 August 2013

On Windmill Lane


  1. Shall be over sharpish to clamp the remaining ancient semi-functional glim upon this remarkable whatever it is, "in person", almost, as it were.

    Meanwhile and at the same time conceding that the present only partially clouded glimpse (and the clouds of course all of one's own creation, generated in, or shall one say conjured ungraciously from, this pristine West Midlands sky, by the current private Dogpatch overcast aka progressive vision failure) may be at least as good as being there.

    Though our urban bus conductors have done a dramatic volte-face and rejected a new pay package that would have put them into a higher economic stratum than 99.9% of their impoverished and beleaguered passengers, thus once again threatening a walkout, no worries at all for virtual Brummagen travelers comme moi who can trust to always be having a ticket to ride.

    User friendly fares as well.

    Be seeing you neath the scaffolding down Windmill Lane soon then, and godspeed.

  2. Water tower, then?

    (From the dark: "Is there no Label, at least?")

    Imagination rears up.

    Nineteen years ago, Ben has appointed with Tracey, they have agreed (projected into the future, beyond the inevitable apathetic breakup) to catch the bus at this imaginal "point in time" over from Hull on a Thursday (her day off, and of course Ben would never bother with actual work), to meet neath the scafolding on the water tower restoration project (all vintage facsimile brick work mind you). But in the event...


    (It's a tragedy, I believe.. or perhaps a pathody?)

  3. Those tickets are objects of great beauty; the gaps and blotches.

    The building's one corner of a Mosque. They seem to have been putting the place together since we first moved to this part of Brum nine years ago - brief flurries of work followed by months of nothing.

    Ben and Tracey are the perfect company.

  4. I'm putting a few labels in. This one went out at the last minute.