Today turned out to be a challenging walk. I left home not knowing where I would go and not interested in walking far, which is the opposite of what finally happened.

I found myself going back to York Crescent, where I spent most of my childhood. There was a route along the canal that I would take to visit my grandmother when I was a child, which I had tried to walk along at the beginning of the month, but it was blocked, impassable.

I was curious because when I was walking along the canal today, I saw people on the other side coming from that path. I shouted over to the other side of the canal, asking them, and they told me that it had been cleared in the last couple of days, allowing me to access the street that led to my old home.

I thanked the people and continued along the path, finally arriving out of the canal and into the street that led to York Crescent, where my family and I had lived for so long in the past. When I arrived, I didn’t stay long reminiscing. Instead, I walked up and into the streets that I would go along for school.

The day is beautiful, with few clouds in the sky, no rain, and everything seems to be blooming, especially in the sun.

I walked down into Wollaston village, where I once worked at a bakery on the main High Street, which has probably been closed for a long time now. There is also the newsagent’s that is still there, but with different owners, and next to it, there used to be a toy shop that is no longer there.

The village centre, the heart of this quaint little village, remains the same, but most of the businesses have either closed or changed hands, and only the pubs have survived the test of time.

It’s my naivety that leads me to expect small shops and businesses from the past to be here still and survive the test of time. Indeed, nothing is forever; everything is constantly changing, and nothing escapes this universal truth.

Ultimately, death is an inevitable part of reality.

Deciding to walk to Stourbridge, I took Enville Street, the Main Street that connects Wollaston with Stourbridge. My primary school, where I spent five years until I was 11, is located on the Wollaston side, adjacent to the local church, with its grounds surrounding it, which are still quite beautiful.

This street, which stretches about a mile and a half and leads into Stourbridge, used to have eight or nine pubs along it. On Friday or Saturday evenings, people would sometimes go on a pub crawl, starting at one end of the street. They would have one pint or drink in each pub while moving on to the next, trying to visit all the pubs before they closed.

It’s a challenge in terms of time because the closing time for licensing is midnight. When you’re with friends and having a good time, it’s more common to want to stay in one place rather than move on. Additionally, the whole street is quite long.

When you enjoy a pint or a drink in each pub during a pub crawl, leaving the warmth of the bar for the cold English weather, which usually has more fresh air, can make you feel drunker more quickly. If you’re not extremely disciplined and focused, you might likely give up before reaching the last pub on the crawl.

One notable characteristic of this street in the past that is no longer present is ‘Langer’s’, the Army and Navy store, which was once well-known in the region. Located on the right-hand side of Enville Street, just before reaching Stourbridge, it was a large, long white building that featured a variety of army and navy artefacts, clothing, hardware, and more. Many items were displayed on or in front of the pavement in front of the shop, as well as on the walls and in the windows to showcase what was inside.

From the time I was around 12 or 13 years old, I would often visit this shop. Once, I bought an original Italian army jacket from there, which was a popular trend at the time. The shop felt like a treasure chest, an Aladdin’s cave filled with a variety of items, both new and second-hand. You could find things for the home, garden, camping, or simply as decorative pieces. It was easy to lose track of time while searching for unique military items amidst the clutter and collectables.

Once again, it’s gone, just like so many other things—places, institutions, and businesses. Now, it’s merely a distant memory. I wonder if it’s because we’re young, impulsive, or feel inconsequential that we fail to recognise how special those moments truly are while we’re experiencing them. We can learn from our past and appreciate the moments we are living today, as they too may eventually pass and change in the future.

I walked into Stourbridge town, which for me nowadays is a mixture of old and new, and good and bad. What disappoints me is that many of the old traditional businesses have gone, but they have been replaced with numerous charity shops, unappealing vape shops, and coffee shops.

I get the impression that English people, with their sustained economic buoyancy over the last 30 or 40 years, are now soft. The new generations, or the younger ones, don’t have the same hardness as our forefathers, who were made of sterner stuff – people who were moulded into the iron cast of a person, with strong principles, discipline, and hard rules, but always kind and considerate.

I think the new generation is accustomed to being pampered and spoiled, which leads to easy and immediate pleasures, such as gaming and vaping, and having what they want easily, and without any waiting, but not necessarily what they need.

In England today, everyone has a decent car, central heating, and double glazing in their homes, along with numerous distractions that exploit their weaknesses and lead to a lack of direction in their lives.

Whilst walking around in the High Street, I stopped at a quaint coffee shop for a coffee and to write. There was a couple who sat near me who had a beautiful and impressive traditional lurcher hunting dog, which I complimented.

I thought about taking the bus home, but I finally decided to walk home along the canal. Walking along the canal is a shortcut; I think it’s shorter, faster, and much more pleasant than walking along the street with the traffic. The total distance that I had walked was about 16 kilometres, which was a good and long round trip for the morning. I had lunch with my mother and later rested.

In the evening, I began separating some clothes to pack in my small suitcase for the trip to Sheffield to see my brother and his family the next day.

A pleasant and straightforward Boxing Day in England.

In bed by 11:00 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 Tuesday the 26th of December 2023: “A Walk-Through Memories and Change”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.

My mother and I had prepared the leg of lamb on Christmas Eve.

Essentially, it involved taking it out of its plastic, cleaning and drying it, covering it with salt, pepper, lemon juice, and olive oil, and making slits in the meat to insert small slices of garlic.

We also placed a layer of sliced onion rings at the bottom of an aluminium baking tray. My mother peeled and chopped the vegetables; my task with the lamb took no more than half an hour at most, but it was a help to my mother.

On Christmas morning, I was slow to get out of bed. I think it was the drink from the day before; even though it wasn’t much, I’m not used to it anymore, and my age is definitely catching up with me. I finally got up at 8:30, and my mother got up around 9:00.

I made a cup of tea for both of us, and we sat downstairs in the back living room to open the presents. My mother settled into her chair in the far back corner, while I turned my chair around to face her. In addition to the present I had bought for her, she also had a few gifts from friends and neighbours. She was more enthusiastic about opening the presents than I was, like a five-year-old child, though in a lovely way.

She gave me my present, a silver-plated travel clock that you can insert a photo into, and some money. She told me she loved my gift for her: the small ornaments of a white dog lying down, the esoteric stones, and a bottle of washing-up liquid, which was a bit of a joke. She adored them all.

I noticed a little later that she cried; I think it was because she had someone from the family near her during Christmas, along with the affection of the presents. Even though they weren’t of any great monetary value, they came from the heart, and I believe she felt that.

A little later, after a great deal of verbal and mental reminiscing with my mother, I went out for a drink at two nearby pubs. Again, as the day before, the first was a fun pub and the second a more low-key traditional family pub.

The fun pub was nice, but nothing special, and it was much more expensive than a typical pub. The second pub was more homely and considerably cheaper. I had arranged to arrive back home for lunch at about 2:15, and at 2:15, I was opening the front door.

We had lunch at 3:00, featuring lamb, potatoes, carrots, Brussels sprouts, parsnips, and lots of gravy. It was delightful and very English. Shortly after, we enjoyed a traditional Christmas pudding with custard, and I found a 25 pence coin in the pudding, which is a tradition of putting money in the Christmas pudding in England.

Later, we had some cake and then some trifle that my mother had made the day before, after which I had to rest, due to eating so much. Later on, I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. Although it took quite a while, I don’t mind doing it; the truth is, I quite enjoy it.

For me, washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen serve as a form of therapy and discipline simultaneously. It’s even more pleasurable when I do it while listening to music, but if not, that’s no problem. However, when I listen to music and clean, I feel good about looking back afterwards to see that everything is perfectly clean and mostly in the right place. Both the stove and oven are clean and tidy, and the kitchen is presentable.

Well, for me, it is deeply gratifying!!!

In the morning, I had already spoken to Jessica, Yasmin, Nalva, and Cibele, so the day was off to a good start in that respect. Oh, and yes, my brother too, who was at the pub with his son Luke. So, my Christmas Day was simple whilst travelling to England and being with my mother, and I thank the universe for helping it happen. In two more days, I will be in Sheffield with my brother, and this will be interesting.

In the evening, my mother drank half a bottle of Baileys, and I was 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 Monday the 25th of December 2023: “Christmas Day in England”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.

It’s Christmas Eve, and usually, I’m in Brazil, where it’s hot. However, this Christmas, after more than 20 years, I’m in England, and it’s cold.

I won’t be celebrating on the 24th with my family in Brazil, but on the 25^th with my mother, because I’m in England. In England, it is customary to have a drink or gather with friends on Christmas Eve, serving as an unofficial warm-up to Christmas Day.

When I left home at about 11:00 a.m., I had already decided to go to at least one pub, or preferably two, before heading home.

I found myself walking up Belle Vue, where we lived after we had lived for so long in Wollaston. For me, it felt like a markdown from where we had once lived, following the messy and complicated separation and divorce. I believe the ones who benefited the most from this situation were the lawyers, who took advantage of the emotional immaturity of both my parents.

The house in Belle Vue was a small, three-bedroom townhouse with a charming little back garden. The front of the house is positioned directly on the street, with the front door opening onto the pavement. It was at this front door, 40 years ago, that I arrived home from work on a Friday, with my suitcase waiting for me in the street.

My mother and I had argued that morning about my future. She insisted that I would have to make a decision at that moment, and I wasn’t yet ready to do so. Perhaps both of us were being stubborn, and I was feeling rebellious.

After taking six or seven years of mental and psychological abuse from her, my patience had long been exhausted, my patience tank was empty; not a drop left. Before I left for work that morning, my mother warned me that if I didn’t decide now, she would kick me out.

It was a Friday, and my mind was already on other things, where I would go that night and whom I would meet. I was not ready to make the decision that my mother had pressured me into, and yes, at the same time, I was probably not taking her threat and ultimatum seriously.

Then in the afternoon, early evening, arriving home, approaching the house, my suitcase and bags were already outside the front door on the pavement in the street. Obviously, I was a little surprised, so I knocked on the door. My mother opened it, and I naturally asked her exactly what this was. She told me that she was kicking me out and that I had to find another place to live.

What I didn’t realise at the time was that this would mark the beginning of my life’s adventure, which is still ongoing. It has involved a great deal of suffering and some misery, but it remains a journey, and I’m still here to experience it, and I’m not dead yet.

When my mother told me that she was kicking me out, I listened, thought, and processed the situation and the circumstances for a couple of seconds, paused, and finally said.

“You are an adult, you vote, you pay taxes, etc., you know exactly what you’re doing. I will not come back, if you want to see me again in the future, you will have to look for me, I will not look for you”!

I then left and took my suitcase and bags to my grandparents’ home, where I stayed for three or four months. One day, I woke up feeling guilty for imposing on my grandparents, so I packed a small bag with clothes and bought a ticket to go to London on the same day, and later, to Brazil.

Later, I discovered that my mother had expelled my brother from her house many times, and every time he returned. I am not like him; you do it once, or even twice, but never more than that; I prefer to walk away. I’ve had this characteristic my entire life: if someone lets me down or does something against me, there may be a second chance, but never a third or a fourth. I also think that in relationships, even if I still like or have feelings for an ex-girlfriend, for example, whom I would like to reconnect with or continue with, I just can’t and don’t do it anymore.

It is if the image of that person is broken for me and can’t be fixed.

So, this Christmas Eve, I went on my own to two pubs near my mother’s home. The Lawnswood, a large, profit-driven pub with high prices, serving subpar food and offering a less-than-welcoming service. The second was a more traditional, simple pub with a lot of older people, where everybody knows everybody, offering reasonable prices, a more homely atmosphere, and better service.

After having a couple of drinks at each, I arrived home, and it was already dark. I then opened a bottle of Malbec and drank half the bottle before.

Happy Christmas!!!

In bed by 11.00 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 Sunday the 24th of December 2023: “A Reflection on Christmas Eve”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.

We are running up to Christmas night in Brazil and Christmas Day in England in terms of respective importance. It is cold, not as cold as when I arrived in November, but it is cold for an adopted carioca.

For me, it’s amusing how there is so much hype leading up to Christmas, but at the same time, there are moments of emptiness, reflection, doubt, and wondering whether it’s all worth it, culminating in the final anticlimax.

I have had many good and very bad Christmases is in Brazil, with family, ex-families, ex-wives, people that kindly invited me into their homes and lives at that moment, at that time of year, the feeling of being lost at Christmas and just sheer happiness of being with people who you like and love.

More and more, I feel that we live in a manipulative society where we are all sheep, following each other in the same direction, often in the wrong one.

I was born in England in the 1960s, a time that felt revolutionary in its own way. However, I chose to live my life in Brazil. Sometimes I joke that I’m more Brazilian than a native Brazilian, because of that choice and how I’ve fully embraced the culture from the very beginning.

Whether I’ve made the right or wrong decision will only be revealed to me by God and time. I often think of the internal struggle between two wolves: one representing good and the other evil. The question remains: which one is right, which one is wrong, and which one do we choose to feed?

I openly say to everybody that I am deeply disappointed with Brazil. I came with great plans and expectations, but unfortunately, I landed in Brazil when it was trying to emerge from the turmoil and confusion of corruption and the stagnation that comes with it.

Still, unfortunately, it has only worsened, with even more quicksand and mud than anything else. It is also clear to me that Brazilian politicians with the Latin culture embedded within them only know how to fight among themselves like little children at kindergarten who don’t know how to play and share their toys properly with everyone.

And if I had stayed in England, would I have been happy? I certainly wouldn’t have had the life I’ve had in Brazil, and neither would I have my beautiful daughters. Perhaps some other children, but not the two daughters who have fulfilled my life, whom I am very passionate about and whose future I am very concerned about.

We should always be appreciative of what we have had, what we have now, and what we can achieve by fighting for in the future. I am temporarily here in England for the first time in over 20 years. I am spending Christmas with my mother, and everything has been going very well so far. I will be with my brother and his family in three days, and I hope to have a good time in the north of England.

I can only be thankful and live in this moment. Could I have had more if I’d stayed in England? Maybe I could have, but it doesn’t matter now.

If you are reading this, I thank you too. If it helps in some way, which I hope it does, it will make me feel better and proud.

I saw The Shawshank Redemption with my mother, and it preaches a lot of what I have talked about today.

In bed by 11.00 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 23rd of December 2023: “Christmas Between Two Worlds”!!! first appeared on The Long Gringo.