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After exploring the enchanting Badger Dingle last weekend, we found ourselves in the thick of it on Saturday night, having been the nominated taxi service to two teens heading to their first gig in Birmingham's industrial heartland Digbeth, now slowly but surely shaking off its dark and dangerous reputation.
I love this part of Birmingham. Currently the high street is a building site whilst tram lines are laid, as plans for the West Midlands Metro extension continue at pace. As easy on the eye as Birmingham's Bull Ring and surrounding area is, something of the character of the city is always stripped away when restaurant franchises and chain stores dominate. As of now, Digbeth is walking that tightrope between darkly creative underbelly - still wearing its industrial heart on its sleeve - and relentless progress and gentrification. I know for some, gentrification of the area can't come soon enough, but for now, I'm enjoying experiencing the palpable excitement that a simple walk around Digbeth offers.
I've visited a few times in recent years, most memorably at the first (and to date, only) Peaky Blinders Festival in 2019.
In September of that year, I took my partner in crime and fellow Peaky obsessive Vix to this fully immersive festival where little set dressing was required. Naturally we stopped for a pint of Guinness in one of the Victorian Irish pubs Digbeth is famed for. In retrospect we should have opted for Thomas Shelby's favoured Irish whisky, but we needed to have our wits about us, as became clear upon entry.
Firstly I was ordered to leave behind my camera (something which outraged me at the time as there was nothing on the festival website to suggest cameras were not welcome when smart phones were!) This necessitated a detour to the Bull Ring where we managed to find a safe for me to deposit the offending item.
Smart phone camera on standby, our first experiences on entry were somewhat surreal. I was taken to one side by a gypsy, who took a keen interest in my jewellery whilst trying to relieve me of cash in some kind of gambling game (memory fails me here).
We were also soon approached by a BBC director, keen to get the two of us on camera to discuss all things Peaky. I wonder whatever happened to that footage? We also chatted (and shared chips) with celebrity Brummie chef, Glynn Purnell, although neither of us recognised him at the time.
There were showgirls and Burlesque performers...
We drank beer, watched bands (including Slaves and Anna Calvi)
...hung out with Thomas and Alfie Solomons...
...received series secrets ahead of transmission from writer and creator Stephen Knight, pictured here from behind (centre)...
...admired the architecture and graffiti art...
...observed illegal boxing...
...supported the Suffragette Movement
and generally had the most amazing day. Little did we know that Covid would emerge at the end of that year.
So, back to Saturday night. We started out in Digbeth, but its dimly lit streets, shady characters and broken glass seemed less inviting before the nightlife had really come alive...
...so we headed on foot into the centre of everything...
where no one had apparently heard of Covid. The bars and restaurants were full to bursting with no masks in evidence. By 7.30 pm (still some way off witching hour), people were dancing and singing in the streets. Talk about the roaring twenties!
Whilst photographing this juggler (more on him shortly)...
...a man handed me an artificial rose, immediately followed by a small laminated note asking for financial support for his family. I explained that I wasn't carrying any cash and he promptly took the rose from my fingers and moved on.
Back to the juggler. I'm not sure if it was part of his act or not, but every so often, he would drop one of his batons, which landed with a clatter near to his peacefully sleeping (and healthy looking dog). This would immediately send the dog off into a spiralling rage and he would charge at the nearest pedestrian. Clearly, whilst the baton had dropped, the penny hadn't for this poor sleep deprived canine, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the real culprit was his owner.
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| Birmingham's famous Bullring |
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| Tramlines |
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| The reflective beauty of the metal clad New Street Station |
Heading back towards Digbeth, we spotted this establishment. After the fiasco in the House of Commons this week with our PM being forced to (yet again) apologise for parties in number 10, this is definitely a sign of the times; a load of old waffle and a PM on shaky ground.
Digbeth was by this time, coming to life. There was ground shaking music and packed pubs and beer gardens. We were happy to observe Birmingham's wildlife from a safe distance. Incidentally and disappointingly, the teens reported back that no checks were carried out relating to the required negative lateral flow tests or proof of vaccination status upon entry to the concert. I can only guess that this is typical.
How cool was this guy's patchwork outfit?!
The final series of Peaky Blinders airs this month, ahead of a planned film to bring this chapter in the life of the Shelby family to a close. I was lucky enough to put in a stint as Filming Assistant on season 6 last Spring before restrictions had been lifted. Miraculously, for once, the press failed to get wind of the fact that filming was taking place at the Black Country Museum, so it was allowed to proceed uninhibited and I feel so lucky to have witnessed these iconic actors walking the cobbles and filming key scenes. But no spoilers here.
After a bleak and stormy weekend, the sun appeared on Monday, along with a teaser of spring-like weather. The balmy temperatures on Monday were perfectly timed and enabled me to try out my new wool jacket. I say new, but of course, it's vintage. I've been searching off an on for a Harris Tweed jacket after visiting the Hebrides several years ago, but they command eye watering prices and ebay and our local charity shops have failed to turn up trumps with anything close in my size. Naturally, all it took was a passing comment on Vix's blog and hey presto! one turned up in a Walsall charity shop (those folks have taste). Vix sent me the photos and my jaw hit the floor.
It was the exact size and shade I was looking for; a 1970s beauty with football buttons, ticket pocket, elbow patches and sewn up pockets. A perfectly preserved piece of vintage loveliness, pictured here teamed with a Breton top, second hand Zara jeans, Clarks boots, Turtle Doves recycled cashmere wrist warmers and second hand leopard print, bead-trimmed Anokhi scarf.
Sun and fashion frivolity however, provided little distraction from the very sad news we received on Sunday evening, that our friend Sandra had passed away. Whilst not unexpected, it came a little sooner than we had anticipated. Sandra, although originally from Durham, had made a life with her husband and three children in her spiritual home, a remote and stunning corner of County Donegal. Consequently, we saw each other once in a blue moon, but those occasions were always filled with laughter. We were still regularly in touch, chatting on the phone or virtually - sometimes during one of her many hospital stays - until late December, when Sandra said she would raise a glass to me. In these circumstances, the word "bravery" is often used. Sandra really did face her illness with a boldness and bravery I can't even begin to imagine being able to muster. She was clever, sassy and funny, one of my favourite people and I will miss her dreadfully.
So tonight, on the evening of her wake, I will raise a glass of whisky - Irish of course - to Sandra.
