Quite a productive and enjoyable day.

I am gradually getting ready to return to Brazil. I won’t see Julie until the middle of the afternoon; I have promised my mother to have lunch with her. I know and feel that she might not genuinely appreciate it, seeing it more as an obligation than sincere gratitude.

I also think, as her son and since it is the last weekend in England and the final Sunday here, it’s the least I can do. Before lunch, I want to go to the Lidl supermarket in Brettell Lane and perhaps also to Stourbridge to buy the last of the presents.

I walked along the canal to Lidl, where I bought gym clothes for Yasmin, Jessica, and Nalva. I also bought some simple makeup kits for some women friends and colleagues in Brazil. I love Lidl because, in a way, it is similar to the Mundial supermarket for the lowest prices in Rio, but better, as their centre aisles with steel crates and shelves that sell everything from clothes to garden equipment, toys, etc., are so interesting that every time I go there, it feels like Christmas again.

It truly is fantastic!

I left Lidl and walked back to the canal and towards Stourbridge. I entered the lower High Street and headed up to the upper part of the town. I went into Tesco’s and the clothes section. I bought the same beautiful long green dresses in different sizes for Jessica, Nalva, and Cibele. I also bought a pair of Bermuda shorts for Mario.

I then went to the Rye market shopping precinct, entered Peacocks, and bought him two more pairs of shorts. I like Peacocks because I think some of the clothes are beautiful, reasonably priced, and of good quality.

I left Peacocks and had a cappuccino at the Costa Coffee stand in the middle of the precinct. There were a few people there, and it was a quiet, quintessential moment for me as I enjoyed a decent coffee on my last weekend in my hometown in England.

It was peaceful, contemplative and calm.

After the coffee, I stopped off at B&M before walking back home and bought two wireless headphone sets for Jessica and Yasmin. They’re not the most expensive, but the sound quality is excellent. I had told my mother I would be back for midday, and I was. I stopped off for a last pint of lager and lime at the Rose and Crown before arriving at my mother’s.

My mother had prepared a simple but very tasty lunch: a pork chop with roast potatoes, green beans, peas, and carrots. As I mentioned, it was straightforward but delicious. However, after the disagreements of the past few weeks, it was not as pleasant as it should have been.

I also insisted on having a small plate, which goes against her beliefs; she prefers to pile as much food as possible onto your plate, which, for me, is now extremely uncomfortable and unpleasant.

I also believe she killed Roger, her late husband, unintentionally and indirectly, by stuffing him with food. I think she does it unconsciously as a way of overcompensating for not knowing how to love and respect someone properly. Therefore, stuffing a loved one with as much food as possible serves as a substitute for affection and for loving someone properly, and as a means of self-validation, as if doing the right thing.

Julie picked me up early in the afternoon. She was hissing a little because she wanted us to have the whole day together, not just the afternoon, but it was good for her to learn to value me a bit more, as she hadn’t in the past.

Fortunately, Austin was with us, and off we went to Bewdley, probably for the last time in a while. As I have said many times, the town of Bewdley is one of the most beautiful little towns in the region, if not all of England.

We parked the car very close to the centre and took a walk along the path that runs beside the River Seven. This path links both sides of the bridge, and if you walk far enough, you come out into fields, farmland, and an old, abandoned bridge.

We are in the heart of England.

This, for me, is very nice. The sun is shining, there are lots of typically large open farmland fields with wild grass and flowers blossoming, and this is precisely what fucked me up.

Hay fever is a major problem in England during spring and summer, when pollen levels are high. When I was a child, I had it a lot, and probably for the first time in over 40 years, I’m having it again today.

The irritation was so intense in my eyes, more specifically my left eye, after rubbing it so much that it swelled up like a golf ball; I thought my eye was going to explode out of my head. We got to arrive at the old, abandoned bridge, and on the way back, we stopped at an Inn facing the river with tables and chairs outside in the street.

All this time, Austin was in his element, what a dog!!!

This exact inn was one of the places I looked up on the Internet for Julie and me to stay for the weekend, but unfortunately, it didn’t happen. We were confused about where to eat, so we finally decided to buy some fish and chips from the local chippy, where we had bought them the last time we were here. We sat on some steps by the river and ate.

How English is that?

We later had a quick walk around Bewdley’s High Street, and we bought some sweets at Teddy Greys, an old-style sweet shop where all the sweets are in large jars as they used to be 40 or 50 years ago, and you would buy them by weight.

This reminded me of my father’s newsagents when I was a child: one wall was just shelves with jars of sweets; the other wall was for tobacco; and, further back on the opposite side of the shop, were birthday gifts and greeting cards.

But that was a long time ago, as if it were another life and another person.

We finally got back to the car, but my hay fever was worsening, and on the way back, we had to take a detour through Stourport to get home. An hour later, as it has been for the past two months, Julie dropped me off. It was a pleasant, productive day, and I am very grateful.

In bed by 10:30 p.m.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.

Richard

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post Sunday, the 2nd of June 2024: “My Last Sunday in England”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.

It’s Saturday, and like most Saturdays for the past month or so, it’s usually something to do with Julie and Austin, the man.

The weather is quite nice in England; if it’s not raining, it’s already good. It’s not too warm, but it’s sunny, and at least the forecast isn’t for rain.

I didn’t do any morning exercise as I am still with a cold; I can’t seem to shake it off, and there are times when it gets better or worse. Last night, Julie and I discussed whether to go to Bridgnorth or Stourport, and I think we will probably decide by flipping a coin when she arrives.

Julie prefers Bridgnorth because it is much more sophisticated than Stourport. Stourport has a reputation for being a little tacky, especially along its Main Street, with amusement arcades, fish and chip shops, and some fast food restaurants and pubs. The town is again separated by a river, which does not cut through precisely, but the river is an integral part of the town’s composition and culture, much like Bewdley.

Julie arrived with Austin, and he was very happy to see me, making a fuss to stay with me in the front seat of the car. Why do dogs love to stick their heads out of the window while the car is moving? We flipped a coin, and Stourport won. We put Stourport in the USS Enterprise’s Mini GPS, and we were off on our way. In 20 minutes, we were arriving in the town’s centre.

We followed the traffic and checked the GPS, which showed various car parks near the river. It was easy to find a spot, and in less than 10 minutes, we were parked. Austin was already out and running around the car like a madman, while Julie was deciding what to take with us. As I had already mentioned, it was chilly; even though the sun was shining, the cold was exacerbated by a breeze in the air.

The car park was 100 or 200 metres from the riverbank, with all sorts of touristy attractions in between that adjoined and formed part of the town’s public park. There was crazy golf, a dinosaur park, food and drink kiosks selling hot dogs and candy floss, and a variety of other attractions. Behind us, in the opposite direction to where we were walking, was the town’s main amusement arcade with rides, located beside the bridge in front of the river and the High Street.

We were walking away in the opposite direction from the bridge beside the river, following a path that runs along the river. We had passed the attractions and were now on the path with the Seven River on our left and a large open field for tourists to have picnics on our right.

This picnic field brought back memories of when I was very young; my parents had already separated, and one of the few times I can remember having quality father and son time was when he took us—my brother and me—to Stourport on a Sunday, and we had a picnic in this very field, after more than 40 years.

I am now thinking about the past and my father, with whom I unfortunately had very little contact.

We continued walking along the path, eventually reaching a gate that indicated it was the entrance to a Yacht Club and Marina. It was not the kind of Yacht Club typically associated with a grand entrance, security, and high residential blocks of flats surrounding the complex, with piers extending into the sea, numerous sailboats, and large yachts.

It was simply a plain gate with a sign on the path, which continued normally beyond the gate, so we decided to go through and carry on our walk. As other couples came and went along the same path, it felt natural for us to proceed after the gate.

On the left was the River Seven, lined with numerous small plots of land, each fenced off and featuring entrances that led to a mini pier or dock extending into the river. Some of these plots had boats moored at the pier, while others didn’t.

It was clear to me that you could rent or purchase a plot where you could park your boat with a small garden or some extra space. Each plot came equipped with barbecue facilities, a small dock, and everything else you might desire for your boating experience.

As we continued along the path, it opened up and, on the right, there was a large, well-maintained field with neatly trimmed grass. In the centre, there appeared to be a clubhouse, and at the back and around the edges of the field, there are wooden sheds, trailers, and chalets.

This suggested to me that people owned a small plot of land where they would erect small prefabricated static houses or trailers within that little area. The path now resembled a driveway with wheel tracks circling the edge of the green field, so we decided to follow it, tracing the wheel tracks made by cars constantly crossing the grass.

There was essentially a small collection of prefab houses within a condominium. Some of the houses were interesting and well-maintained, and I would have liked to see the inside of one or two out of curiosity. However, others were quite tacky, unattractive, and in poor condition. I also noticed that each cabin or house had a different design; there was no consistent planning, DNA, design language or uniformity among them, which reminded me a lot of middle to lower class housing in Brazil.

In Brazil, you can visit places, condominiums, beach towns, etc., where each building or residence is entirely different from the next. Instead of uniformity, you’ll find a mix of houses, ranging from not-so-good ones to interesting or beautiful ones, strange structures, and charming homes, all lacking a shared design DNA, uniformity, or style.

Each one reflects its owner’s taste and the level of quality.

We were following the driveway around and beginning to loop back on ourselves. Austin had been off the lead for some time and was loving it. One woman, probably a resident, called our attention, saying he should  be on his lead. We put him on, but within five or six metres, Julie took him off again; she loves taking Austin for full-open walks where he doesn’t need to be on a lead and he’s totally free.

It’s not that he’s a misbehaved or a dangerous dog—he’s a cockapoo. He’s certainly not a Doberman, Pitbull, or Rottweiler—just a very inquisitive dog with loads of personality.

We retraced the original route, completing a 360-degree loop around the condominium and the field. The area was quite interesting, and probably spending a long weekend here could be worthwhile. As we followed the original path back, we headed past the touristy area, with the River Seven now on our right and the open picnic field, the park, and the crazy golf on our left. Finally, we reached the main bridge, with the amusement park located on the other side.

We arrived at the amusement park, which was already bustling with people and quite loud, with the typical fair swings, rides, loud music, and much noise. We wandered around. There was an amusement arcade, and we tried to go in, but it was clear that it would be too noisy for Austin, just as it was too loud for us.

The fair brought back memories of my childhood in Wollaston. At that time, these fairs would move from town to town, staying at each place for a couple of weeks before moving on. They would set up in a park behind my old primary school in Wollaston, creating a lot of hustle, movement and excitement when the fair arrived. We would plan to go with friends, or go because it was there; we knew we would meet everyone and have a great time.

This fair in Stourport is an integral part of the town and its culture, remaining unchanged. We left the fair and entered the main High Street. Before walking up, we both went to the toilet in a large pub that looked like a Wetherspoons, but it wasn’t.

Julie explained to me that it was the direct competitor to Wetherspoons.

After relieving ourselves, we walked up the High Street and again passed some amusement arcades that, for the upper middle class, are seen as tacky, and in some ways, they are. However, sometimes tackiness can be fun, especially when sophistication can be seen as dull at times. Going to a place and having fun, doing something silly, stupid, different and out of the ordinary, can be seen as good.

Therefore, something that makes you feel good is not necessarily tacky; it is positive!

We did not go into any of the amusement arcades because they weren’t interesting to us; they were too loud, and besides, we were with Austin. The town’s main High Street, like many High Streets across England, is divided by a side street, splitting the High Street into two halves, the lower and upper parts.

The side street separating the High Street in Stourport leads us to the car park where we left the car. After crossing this street, we are now walking through the upper part of the High Street. It was clear that there were more interesting shops with unique themes, and near the end of the street, we found a charming little coffee shop, a café.

We were able to enter with Austin; we ordered two cakes to share and two cappuccinos. The place was nice, common, and modern, but it had a lot of stuff in it, which made it a little confusing. The cakes were good, and the coffees were not bad. We began to talk to a young couple about the region, and everything was good. They gave us some tips for where to have lunch, but to be honest, it was too much information for me.

I was in ‘I don’t really give a fuck mode’!

We paid and left the coffee shop, which we later discovered was a bakery, and supplied sour bread to our future favourite pub, which we didn’t know about yet. The couple had suggested a pub for lunch, just 200 metres from where we were, beside a canal.

‘The Black Star’ was a lovely pub, situated in a privileged place on the edge of the canal bank with tables and chairs outside. It was very quaint and English, but we felt it was still too early for lunch. We decided to follow the canal in the direction of the river, seeing where it would take us and what we might find and do along the way.

The back streets, away from the busy central part of Stourport, were terrific to me, much more interesting than the main High Street. The canal guided us towards a marina for long boats or narrow boats, where there was a meeting of locks and other canals. There were also beautiful green lawns around, along with a lovely old pub and inn at the end, called ‘The Angel’, which we thought would be an interesting place to stay overnight.

‘The Angel Pub and Inn’ was quite large and impressive, positioned directly opposite the river on an elevated spot, overlooking the beer garden and the river itself. Beside the pub stood a beautiful, old, restored house that was also quite majestic, standing and overlooking the river.

The pub, the house, and the marina were all connected, forming a natural walk around and towards the amusement park. They were hidden behind the fair, which for us were the principal hidden gems of Stourport. Nobody talks about this part of Stourport, not even Julie, who is quite critical at times, but even she thought it was very nice and beautiful, nothing like what we had expected. In fact, it was quite the opposite; it was rather sublime.

We passed by the fair again, walking along the path beside the riverbank towards the tourist picnic area and ultimately the car park. When we reached the car, Julie suggested for lunch that we either return to the Black Star in the centre of town or drive to a pub outside Stourport.

She mentioned ‘The Hop Pole’, a pub at the top of the hill in Bewdley. I quickly searched on Google and found a site listing the kitchen as open until 3:00 p.m. It was already 2, so I called to ask if we could get a table if we arrived by 2:30. I also told them that we were leaving Stourport now, so Bewdley was just a stone’s throw away.

They said they would wait for us, and we were on our way. We entered ‘The Hop Pole’ pub into the GPS, and by 2:20, we were pulling into the car park. The pub looked quite ordinary from the outside; it sits on a hill with the car park below, in front of the street. There were small gardens around the grounds of the pub as we walked up to the main door.

Externally, both the pub and the gardens did not seem very well maintained, even a little tatty. However, when we entered, it was a classically cosy and straightforward rustic-style British pub, with natural light flooding in from all sides through the large bay windows on every side.

There was a special area for people with dogs, supposedly dog-friendly, but for us, it felt more like segregation than friendliness. Several friends had recommended this pub, so our expectations were high; however, they seemed to be going more south. Ebony, a young, friendly, beautiful barmaid, came over, showed us to a table, explained the menu, and what they didn’t have for us that day.

I ordered a glass of Malbec and Julie had half a lager and lime. Austin was a bit restless but behaved well. Julie’s fettuccine with a white sauce arrived; it was warm and mediocre, nothing special. My burger with chips was good, the chips were very hot, and the burger was fine but not outstanding.

Another waiter, a short, pot-bellied middle-aged man, was very friendly, attentive, and helpful. We asked some questions about the pub and the region, and he answered our queries. As we were so close to the centre of Bewdley, just 10 minutes on foot according to John’s estimate, we asked if we could leave the car in their car park for an hour and a half while we took one last walk around this charming town.

He said there would be no problem and not to worry, so we went ahead with it.

We walked down into Bewdley, marking the third time we have been together and my fourth since returning to England. The town was bustling with people and visitors. We strolled along the main High Street, popping into a few shops. Julie picked up a souvenir for her grandson, Ozzy, while I bought oven gloves for my mother, who needed them.

Then, coming from over the bridge, came a large convoy of motorbike riders, possibly from one or two clubs combined from the region. They turned right after the bridge into the side street that runs along the riverbank, where we parked the last time we were here.

These unexpected, unplanned events make our days different.

Exploring the marina and the side streets of Stourport. Visiting Stourport while having lunch in Bewdley. A spontaneous, quick drive to Bewdley that wasn’t planned at all. Doing a bit of shopping in Bewdley on a sunny Saturday afternoon, walking past parked motorbikes. Seeing the motorbikes and bikers brought back memories of Brazil, especially of ex-president Jair Bolsonaro, who would participate in motorbike convoys as part of his presidential campaign.

He once came into Copacabana riding a massive superbike along with literally thousands of motorbikes, probably from hundreds of clubs representing their clubs, families, and different regions of Brazil, including probably the Brazilian people in general.

We walked around the motorbikes, taking in the atmosphere created by so many different people together, then started our walk up the hill back to the car. Clearly, walking back and uphill at the end of a long day was more tiring, but within 15 to 20 minutes, we were back at the pub with the car still there, no extra scratches, and no slashed tyres, so everything was fine.

We set the GPS to go back to Wordsley, and we set off once more. I think we were all a bit wacked, but I believe the real problem was that we would have to go back to our own houses and not stay together.

Parting from each other was a little difficult; I think neither of us wanted the day to end separated.

In bed by 10:00 p.m.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.

Richard

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post Saturday, the 20th of April 2024: “A Nostalgic Day in Stourport”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.

Saturday was an action-packed day, with Julie and me visiting multiple places, some planned and others not. I was tired in the evening, so it was great to get a good night’s sleep of more than six hours, which is really beneficial for me.

I was up quite early for a Sunday morning, exercising and having my usual morning chat with Julie. I also finished some online work, and everything went smoothly. My mother finally got up and told me that it was not possible to have lunch with her at the Elton Centre, as there was no place available.

I was surprised, and mostly relieved, that I had already been to the Elton Centre with my mother twice before her operation. Although the lunches were very nice — a typical Sunday English lunch — the company of the very, very old pensioners was sometimes a bit tedious, with the main topics being the past, ailments, and not having to do the washing up if they were at home.

That said, I have always enjoyed their company and going there!

I am also somewhat suspicious that my mother might not have wanted me to go, as a way to punish me for leaving her alone at home while I went out with Julie. It is terrible to think this, but I know my mother is more than capable of doing such a thing.

Julie called me again, and I mentioned that I would have lunch alone, thinking that Julie would usually have lunch with her parents. To my surprise, she was free for lunch because her mother had not arranged, cooked, or decided anything for lunch-a day off from cooking!

So, we decided to have lunch together at some place, somewhere, but only on the condition that Austin, her beautiful little cockapoo, came with us; I was missing him a lot. My mother would leave for the Elton centre at about half past midday, so I arranged with Julie to pick me up at 1:00 p.m.

When Julie said she was arriving and pulled up outside my house, I was surprised and disappointed to see that Austin wasn’t with her. I asked why, and she said she was unsure about bringing him, and if I wanted, we could go back and get in.

Without hesitation, I said, “So what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

She was a little surprised by my insistence, but we went back and brought the little man. I stayed in the car while she got him. When he saw me, he went completely nuts to be with me. This little cockapoo has so much personality. He’s not a breed that I would usually be interested in, but he’s a really fantastic little dog, full of character and charm.

Now we are complete and ready to set off!

We were going to go to ‘The Cat’ pub at Enville, which is dog-friendly, and the food is surprisingly very good. We went there a couple of weeks ago, without Austin, and the kitchen was closed. The pub is very nice, with an old, rustic interior, a working fireplace, and a very nice beer garden with tables and chairs arranged outside in an organised way.

However, Julie tentatively suggested that we go to Bewdley again, this time during the day. The last time we went was at night, when there were a lot of drunk young people in the pubs and on the streets.

I thought the idea was excellent; Julie was indecisive, but we finally agreed to go. We entered the destination into the Starship Enterprise’s GPS, and we set off. In 20 minutes, we arrived in the lovely town of Bewdley and its surroundings. Throughout the journey, Austin sat on my lap, occasionally causing a little discomfort, as he stuck his furry head out of the window, letting the wind blow in his face.

Why do dogs love sticking their heads out of car windows so much? Let’s try to see what it does for us.

We crossed the bridge where the River Seven flows underneath. Instead of turning right into a car park a little further along, we turned left immediately after the bridge. We proceeded down the side street that runs beside the river, with the river on one side and houses, bars, and restaurants facing it on the other. Further down at the back, there was a public car park.

Austin sensed we were about to stop and get out of the car before it actually happened, so he started to become both anxious and excited at the same time. When he knows we are about to do something, he goes completely berserk.

I love it!

We paid for the car park and began walking along the riverbank towards the bridge and the centre of Bewdley. We passed through the arch, which serves as a tunnel beneath the bridge, splitting the walkway in half from one side to the other. We carried on walking along the street and the pathway, moving further away from the bridge and the town centre, until we entered a park that became a dirt path.

On the right was the River Seven, which seemed to flow quite swiftly. On the other bank of the river, farmland and fields stretched out, with crops starting to emerge from the recent seeding. The further we walked from the centre, the simpler the path became, until we reached an abandoned old bridge, which, for a photographer, was quite beautiful.

We passed by a stunning old house that had clearly been restored into a highly esteemed residence, the sort of house you’d see in an architectural magazine, with beautifully restored brickwork, aged yet pristine wooden windows in white, and ivy climbing all over one side of the house, truly breathtaking. There was a large, beautiful tree in the centre of the small garden and lawn in front, and separating the grounds from the public path was a charming old stone wall.

A little further on, we reached another abandoned bridge with its towers still standing in the river, quite impressive despite missing their tops; all that remains now are the towers, serving as a reminder or even a trophy of British engineering and the industrial revolution of the past.

We passed the abandoned bridge only 100 or 200 metres before deciding to return to the centre. Other couples with dogs were either crossing us or heading in the same direction. Austin would approach each dog, compliment it, sniff it, and then move on, never bothering the owners or anyone else.

What a dog, with so much personality!

As we returned and approached the main bridge in the town centre, we were debating where to eat. Julie is sometimes a bit over-conscious about Austin, automatically assuming that most places are not dog-friendly. Instead of finding a pub or restaurant that welcomes dogs, we saw the fish and chip shop on the corner of the street, facing the bridge and the river. It’s very popular, with people buying food to sit and eat in front of the river, happily enjoying their meals at tables and chairs along the riverbank.

The plan was to buy fish and chips and sit somewhere by the river; however, Julie wanted to first buy some sweets from an old traditional-style sweet shop located across the road from the fish and chip shop at the other side of the bridge.

We crossed under the bridge again and headed up to Main Street, where the sweet shop is. There was a queue of people outside, waiting to choose their hand-picked sweets. We decided not to wait because the queue was too long. Instead, we walked up the High Street and planned to come back in half an hour or an hour before it closed.

As we strolled along the high street, we came across the usual restaurants and shops. Then we discovered a unique store entirely dedicated to dogs and cats, offering branding, merchandise, and accessories—a boutique pet shop.

We entered with Austin, and it was the typical, beautiful, small, exquisite shop for the wealthy. Everything, including the shirts, was in good taste. Julie found a blue collar with a rose gold buckle on special offer. We tried it on Austin and bought it for him.

As we left the shop, we continued along the High Street, where we discovered a museum that displayed the history of Bewdley and the surrounding area. Julie automatically assumed again that dogs would not be welcome, as the reception looked very tidy and well organised. I told her to ask, and to her surprise, dogs were indeed allowed.

If you don’t ask, you won’t find out, and you’ll gain nothing!

We entered through the reception into an old-fashioned alleyway, where each side featured sections divided into shops or small exhibition centres, all focused on a typical topic related to the region’s history. Everything was very well laid out and organised, quite impressive indeed. At the end of the alley, it opened up into a much larger square with a coffee shop, souvenir shops, and a covered area with an awning where you could sit, have a coffee, and something to eat.

We ordered two cappuccinos and a cake. The cappuccinos were really very good—strong, hot, and just right. The carrot cake was lovely too; everything was perfect. Julie went to the toilet with Austin. She’s always worried about him barking in public places. He constantly barks whenever we are about to get up or start doing something. He doesn’t bark much, and I think most people understand that he’s a dog and dogs bark.

That’s how it is; he’s a dog!

The museum. Rob, an employee, was closing the back entrance. He was also shutting the entrance to a lovely English garden with a pond. Julie wanted to stay, but Rob invited us to return and enjoy a coffee and cake in the garden.

How cool is that?

After leaving the museum, we continued walking up and around an old building located in the middle of the main High Street, which splits the street into a fork. At the back of the building, we crossed to the other side of the main street, heading back towards the river, where the fish and chip shop was located in front of the bridge. We passed in front of the St George pub, where Julie and I first visited Bewdley.

When we arrived at the riverbank, we found a table and chairs not in front of the chippy but in front of a pub. I bought half a pint of lager and lime for Julie and a full pint for myself. I then left them both and went to the chippy to buy a large cod and chips takeaway meal, which was more or less for two people.

It took ages because they freshly cooked and fried the large cod. When I got back with the food, it was starting to get chilly. Austin made a fuss when he saw me from afar, and the fish and chips were the best we’ve had together so far, with just the right amount for both of us.

After eating, admiring the River Seven and returning the glasses to the pub, we made our way back to the car and set off to go back to Wordsley.

Julie dropped me off, and we later talked before going to bed. We had seen each other on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

In bed by 9:30 p.m.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.

Richard

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post Sunday, the 14th of April 2024: “A Great Day in Bewdley”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.

I believe it’s a mix of jealousy, selfishness, and her sociopathic tendencies. I’ve brought out a dark side in her since I started seeing Julie. Things were good and reasonably stable until I had a female friend, and it’s starting to impact my mental health and my relationship with Julie.

In the morning, it was a beautiful day with the sun shining and a blue sky, and I woke up feeling happy, almost euphoric. I did some exercise and got ready to go out to the café on the green. I sent a cheeky message to Julie asking why she didn’t come and join me for a coffee there. It is her day off. I told her not to text me, giving me an excuse if she wasn’t going to come, and said we would talk later.

It’s a kind of checkmate situation where people sometimes automatically say no to something or someone, or to something that suddenly seems unusual. Before they give a negative reply, you tell them that if it’s going to be negative, they shouldn’t tell you, and you don’t want to know either way. Without any explanation or excuse, it simply is or it isn’t.

I went to the cafe, which had only a few tables occupied at first, but it quickly filled up with people. The owner, Jim, a Scotsman who is extraordinarily kind and helpful, always comes to chat with me when the place isn’t very busy. I ordered and paid for a tea with limes, sat down, and started to journal.

After half an hour, the place was bustling with people. I was nearly finished, and there was no sign of my beautiful, little, perfect woman. I finished my journaling, sent some messages to Brazil, and packed up my things to buy a cappuccino before heading out. I bought my cappuccino and decided to sit outside first, and out of nowhere, my flirt, my beautiful little perfect woman, appeared — and suddenly, everything was good again.

She went to the counter at the back of the cafe to buy herself a coffee. I followed her and said I would pay. We then went outside the cafe, where there is a row of tables and chairs in front of the windows of the cafe, and to my surprise, she had brought her dog, a Cockapoo, half Cocker Spaniel, half Poodle called Austin.

Obviously, she had talked to me about him before, but in real life, he is not as small as I thought he would be; he’s taller than a Cocker with champagne coloured fur and an expressive face with his charming moustache and beard and what a personality.

“He’s got so much personality that the only reason he doesn’t speak is that if he did, he’d have to work!” – It’s a Brazilian expression!

Dogs are not permitted in the cafe because the owner’s wife, Jo, is supposedly allergic to them. Julie, upon her arrival, asked a couple outside to hold Austin’s lead while she went inside to find me and get a coffee. Another cafe customer, a local, a native of Wordsley, arrived with his Rottweiler, Roxy. Despite being a much larger dog and having the reputation that Rottweilers sometimes have, Roxy is a very gentle dog. It’s not quite what you would expect from this breed, and the two were ok together.

Julie looked fantastic, simple yet beautiful, in flat black trainers, black leggings, a blouse, and a jeans jacket on top, very stylish.

I felt that she was a little nervous because she works in the cafe, and the same people who had suspected that something was happening between us, and now it is out in the open, confirmed for everybody to talk about; It’s a village. The coffee came, and her colleague Diane, who served us, made an ironic comment about us not being very discreet, but everything was good. We talked and laughed with other people and played with the dogs, and it was a special moment.

I had to go because I needed to take my mother to the supermarket. Julie and Austin had come walking, which is at least 3 kilometres. I said I would walk with them, and I walked at least half the way until she said it was not necessary to go any further with them. It was a moment that felt as if we were married — she, her dog, and me. It was very pleasant. When she got home, she thanked me, and I told her it was not necessary. I had enjoyed this special moment just as much as she did, if not more.

Her dog, Austin, is quite extraordinary to say the least!

I took my mother to Sainsbury’s supermarket, where we did the weekly shopping. Now, my mother is impatient with everything, everyone, and mainly with me. We got back home, put everything away, and Julie texted me, and we arranged to meet at 4:00 in the afternoon.

At 4:00 p.m., Julie was outside waiting for me in her Mini Countryman, which now has various clothes of mine on the back seat. Not as if we had done anything sexual, just getting into the car and leaving something behind, as the car’s heater is too efficient, and sometimes it’s too hot inside, causing me to forget I had left something there.

I got in, we kissed, and we were matching—our jackets, jeans, almost everything. The destination was Bewdley, one of the most beautiful, idyllic, quaint villages in England, just a half-hour drive from where we were. We arrived in the town, and it was raining, so wandering around wasn’t ideal. We parked behind the main High Street, near the river that divides the town. We tried to walk about a little, but the rain persisted, growing heavier and heavier.

We entered the main pub, and there were a lot of people. Julie wanted a beer, and I a glass of wine, and this was when things started to go temporarily downhill. We were fine, we talked, but I was on edge because of my mother before I had left home.

The atmosphere at home has become very heavy and toxic, and when I went out tonight, I was not feeling well. The wine seemed to make it worse, but the conversation was enjoyable, and I was glad to be with Julie. However, I was in pain inside; my mother can sometimes be quite cruel and hurtful in a passive-aggressive manner, and he had affected me, with the wine bringing it all to the surface.

We left the pub to find an Indian restaurant. The most famous one was very close, but we discovered another one nearby that looked very posh and interesting. We went in and asked for a table, and for some reason, they took a long time to receive us. An Indian maître finally appeared and said he had a table ready.

I, seemingly out of nowhere, suddenly said, “Well, it’s not rocket science”. I don’t know why I said it or where it came from. Still, Julie looked at me strangely, a little shocked. The maître guided us to the table, and when we arrived, he said that we were lucky, as it is usually swamped. Still, he showed that he was surprised by the comment, just like Julie and me.

Again, I do not know what happened or what made me say that. Looking back now, I am sure it was a combination of anxiety, the stress I am starting to feel with my mother, what I am currently experiencing at home, and the wine that triggered it. The following half-hour saw Julie crucifying me, trying to understand what had truly happened. I believe many good things are happening to me, and I am very grateful; however, deep down, I feel a sense of sadness.

We ordered the food, and it arrived. It was good, not outstanding, but good. After a lengthy conversation, things got better, especially between us, and I felt more relaxed and at ease. When we left the restaurant, we considered walking around the town, but the rain was falling too heavily, and it didn’t seem like it was going to stop any time soon.

We passed by the same pub and hotel as before and saw a small corner with seating, isolated from the central part of the pub, with fewer people and a more intimate, cosy setting. It was in front of the entrance, but since it was an old pub and hotel, there were many secluded corners. We decided to have coffee there. I got the coffee, and we sat alone, talking and kissing. Julie leaned on me, and I supported her, like in a half-hug. We watched people coming and going, some drunk, and many wearing crazy clothes.

It was amusing!

This was the second special moment of the day. The first was in the morning with Austin; even though it was brief, it was terrific. The second was us in each other’s arms, occasionally kissing but always talking and enjoying each other’s company. Julie had noticed and thought that we were very good just being the two of us together, and I believe it’s true, but with Austin, too, it’s even better.

We stayed at the pub, relaxing and chilling out together for about an hour. After we left, got in the car, and in about half an hour, I was home—another experience of ups and downs with my beautiful, little, perfect woman. Only the future will tell what will ultimately happen.

In bed by midnight.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.

Richard

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post Saturday, the 16th of March 2024: “Moments with Julie and Austin Amidst Mental Chaos”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.

One more chapter of my visits, journeys, trips, etc, reminiscing on the past. Today I went with my mother to Bewdley, a beautiful rural village about 15 miles from where my mother lives.

My mother lives in a very privileged part of England, 20 miles from Birmingham, the second largest city in England. Historically speaking, Birmingham and the whole region were once the heart of the Industrial Revolution, with heavy industry and beautiful canal systems depicted in the recent television series Peaky Blinders.

However, if we drive the car two minutes from where my mother lives, we are in the country, with deep forests, open farm fields with cows and sheep, and the English countryside at its best.

Bewdley is widely considered one of the region’s most beautiful villages or towns. I once heard a story about an American who came to visit the area, fell in love with the town’s beauty, returned to the States, sold everything, and came to live in Bewdley for the rest of his life.

Bewdley is an old Edwardian village surrounded by agricultural farming and other quaint villages nearby. The River Severn runs through the town with an old, famous bridge designed by Thomas Telford, a well-known English engineer of that time. The centre is marked by the bridge, beautiful old Edwardian facades, a museum, the once main hotel of the town, and lots of quirky and quaint handicraft and tourist shops.

The town tends to flood when the region receives heavy rainfall. The Severn River rises and inundates parts of the town’s main street and side streets.

Although I have never experienced the town during a flood, I spent several summers there with friends when I was young, enjoying food and drinks in typical English summer weather. In the greyness of winter, the town may not showcase its full potential, but it remains charming and beautiful. However, when summer arrives, it truly is fantastic.

My mother has a habit of going to Bewdley and buying fresh regional produce every fortnight. A little shop in the back street, a greengrocer near one of the car parks, supposedly sells the region’s best produce.

When we arrived, I went with my mother to buy the fruit and veg she wanted for Christmas and then left her to walk around the beautiful town alone. We would later meet up at the Saint George pub and hotel, the main pub and hotel in the past, where I spent so many summers with friends. Now, it is a pub and restaurant under the direction of Wetherspoons.

I still recall some of the charm from the pub I visited long ago. However, I have noticed that all the Wetherspoon pubs I’ve been to since arriving in England tend to be somewhat worn down and shabby. It seems that they do not reinvest enough of their profits to maintain the premises to a good standard.

While the service in these pubs is clinical and well-trained, it doesn’t often feel warm or welcoming. Although many of these establishments are large and have some historical significance to the region, they all lack maintenance, detracting from their overall appeal. The atmosphere can feel bustling due to patrons’ movements, but more effort could be made to keep the pubs updated and in better condition.

Walking around the town brought back a load of memories from past summers. As I said before, Bewdley blossoms in the summer, probably like almost anything else, but it still has a charm even in the cold and grey of winter.

I remember once spending a New Year in Bewdley, where on New Year’s Day there was and there still is a yellow plastic duck race from the top of the main bridge until I don’t know where, one mile down the river. At 1:00 p.m., everybody throws their little yellow plastic ducks off the bridge and into the river, and the first to cross the finish line one mile down the river wins. Mine didn’t win at that time, of course not, just a novice, but seeing hundreds or even thousands of little yellow plastic bath ducks swimming down the river in a frenzy on a cold New Year’s Day was fun.

After I walked around the beautiful old town, I met my mother for lunch at the Saint George pub and hotel. I ordered my usual meal when visiting a Wetherspoons pub: fish and chips. I’ve noticed that the food at all Wetherspoons locations is consistent, so the fish and chips I enjoyed in Kingswinford are precisely the same as those I’m having now at the Saint George in Bewdley. The only difference is the postal code; given the price, the quality is excellent.

On our way out, the main bridge in the town was partially closed, so on our way home, we had to pass through Stourport, another neighbouring village from my childhood. Although it’s not as beautiful as Bewdley, Stourport has its charm, and again, a river flows through the centre of the town.

One of my strongest memories I have got of Stourport as a child is a Sunday afternoon picnic in the summer with my brother and father, shortly after my parents had divorced.

Looking back, it was an enjoyable day and probably one of the few genuine memories I have of quality time spent with my father, brother and me. It was a precious time, and neither of us realised its significance. As is often the case, we only understand the importance of an event after it has passed, which makes us miss what we once had even more.

After some traffic problems, we arrived home at about 6:00 in the evening. I later gave a class to Marcelo, a lawyer from São Paulo, one last final class before Christmas. I later drank Sao Miguel beer at home, which reminded me of another story about when I lived in London, but that is another story for the future.

The day was good. I was happy to have walked around one of my childhood’s most beautiful and iconic towns.

And nobody died.

In bed by 11.30 p.m.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.

Richard

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post Wednesday the 20th of December 2023: “Revisiting Bewdley”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.

There are five or six days until Christmas, depending on how you look at it. In Brazil, we celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve at midnight. In England, we officially celebrate on the 25th with lunch.

I have always felt that Christmas in Brazil is a bit of an anticlimax. There is a big hype running up to Christmas, especially commercially speaking and then Christmas Eve you commemorate with family or friends, and then the next day, the 25th, is a dead day.

Many Brazilians have defended this, saying that on the 25th, there is a kind of informal lunch with the leftovers from the night before, Christmas Eve. OK, it is valid; I understand it, but it is not the same and does not have the same weight as in England.

In England, Christmas Eve on the 24th is reserved for friends, a party, a meeting in a pub, etc., but no family. It is a kind of informal run-up or rehearsal to Christmas with friends but without family.

Christmas Day, the 25th, is spent with family or friends and includes a large lunch. If you have children, you will most likely have to get up early, as they will be anxious to open their presents as soon as possible. I have vague memories of when I was very young, my brother and I would be up at 5:00 or 6:00 in the morning to go downstairs to open our presents, waking up our parents at stupid time o’clock.

After the presents have been opened, lunch is prepared in the morning. Usually, a late lunch is served at either 2:00 or 3:00 in the afternoon so that people can go to the pub between midday and 2:00 p.m. to wish others a very happy Christmas.

The pubs are usually completely packed on the 25th at lunchtime, as there are people who never go to the pub during the whole year, but on Christmas Day, they go to wish others a happy Christmas. For English people, sometimes wishing a person a Merry Christmas or a card can be more important than giving a present.

When I was last in England over twenty years ago, I went to the local pub with my brother and his father-in-law. From the outside of the pub, it buzz of a packed pub hit me like a hammer and gave me goosebumps. I will never forget it. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

It was an amazing experience, people whom I had never met wishing me a Merry Christmas. After two or three hours of drinking a couple of pints, talking, socialising, and wishing everybody a happy Christmas, we went home half-drunk for lunch.

Normally, after lunch, all of England is prostrate on the couch or even on the floor or on the bed from eating so much and nodding off with the music from “The Sound of Music” on TV in the background.

I have been told that nowadays, the classic film on the 25th of December for all of England, which was once “The Sound of Music” in the past, has now changed to “Love Actually”. This famous and well-known comedy romance has become a modern classic for English cinema and Christmas.

On the 26th, known as Boxing Day, people often celebrate Christmas again with another family or a group of friends, spending the 25th with one family and the 26th with another. There are many stories about how Boxing Day got its name, with one popular account being that churches used to collect money for the poor, which was then distributed in boxes on the 26th. However, my favourite story comes from the Victorian era when shop workers and tradespeople would work until Christmas Eve. They would spend Christmas Day with their own families and then gather with their colleagues on Boxing Day.

Since money was more appreciated in lower-income households, this practice allowed families to pay off debts, buy food, and cover bills. Colleagues would give each other money in boxes, ensuring that recipients knew how to use it at home and where it would be used, making it a more practical gift than an ordinary present.

So, in Brazil, it is basically one night, with a maximum of a lunch the next day from the leftovers from the night before. In England, it is three days of celebrations: Christmas Eve with friends, Christmas Day with one family, and Boxing Day with another family or friends.

I’ve always felt that Christmas in England is similar to carnival in Brazil. During the carnival period, there’s a unique atmosphere where people who typically wouldn’t introduce themselves, engage in conversation, or compliment others become more open and sociable.

I see a similar trend during the Christmas season in England, when people who usually don’t interact with others throughout the year are much more approachable and willing to connect during this festive time.

In bed by 11.30 p.m.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.

Richard

Photos by Richard George Photography

The post Tuesday the 19th of December 2023: “A Tale of Two Christmases”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.