Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 4 degrees, bitterly cold, grey and rainy.
It is Easter Sunday, and the weather is very shitty. I was up later than usual due to my night at the pub, but more importantly, a full day with Julie yesterday.
I only got out of bed at 2:00 p.m., after raiding the Kitchen with sandwiches and a couple of glasses of wine. I got up around 9:00 a.m., exchanged messages with Julie, Yasmin, and Nalva, and sent a message to Jessica. I did some exercise. I wasn’t planning to do anything too intense.
Sometimes the intention is to do a light workout, but once I get started, I’ve noticed I push myself harder and further each time. I made myself a coffee, and Julie wanted to talk to me. She confides in me, and we talk a lot. Vulnerability, which usually takes time in a new relationship, has come very quickly, you know.
I value the trust she is giving me, and I believe it is mutual. She had to go, and I did too; I had work to do, and she had a Sunday morning gym class.
I worked until after 11:00 a.m., then I had to change my clothes as I will be having an Easter Sunday lunch with my mother at ‘The Green Man’ pub in Swindon village. It is only a 10-minute drive by car; I have been there with both my mother and Julie.
There is an elderly couple who go to lunch every Sunday, whom my mother knows very well. This time, they had brought their daughter, a plump middle-aged woman who had lived in Spain for more than 20 years and now, since June last year, returned to England to stay with her husband.
I found her story quite interesting, as it shared similarities with my own situation, which has made me think about staying in England for at least a few years. I only brought this up at the end of our lunch, but it was enough to see that what I intended to do was entirely reasonable and logical, not just driven by emotion.
Our lunch was very enjoyable; I thought it wasn’t quite as good as the last time I visited with my mother, but it was still very good. A typical English country lunch, if such a thing exists, would be with a roast meat, mashed or boiled potatoes, vegetables, and a generous amount of gravy. I drank two glasses of wine, and I paid for our lunches.
I had paid last time, and she wants to pay this time, but I insisted. My mother doesn’t allow me to pay for the food and upkeep at home, so whenever possible, I contribute and reciprocate in some way. It should be the prerogative of any sibling to help their parents and not hinder them. The dessert was a rhubarb crumble with custard, very traditionally English; you can’t get more English than that for a dessert.
In another part of the pub’s lounge, an old man was waiting to take our place at the table for his lunch. We were finishing up, and as we were leaving, he entered to take his seat. I recognised him from the café on the green. I told him, and then he recognised me, recalling that I had been writing in the café.
He then said, ironically or even sarcastically, that I was writing my will. I quickly replied that I was a writer. When he heard this, he became somewhat apologetic and more respectful. It’s sometimes good to put people in their place when they try to take the piss.
Everybody was leaving the pub together: me, my mother, the old couple and their daughter, all ambling, almost crawling into the cold, miserable rainy British weather. The lunch was very pleasant, and it was nice to speak to someone I could relate to about similar circumstances. When we got back, I worked a little more and then went upstairs to watch a film on my laptop, rested, and eventually talked to Julie.
She had her family with her, so we only managed to talk in the late afternoon and early evening. And we spoke for nearly two hours.
I have had other relationships where communication was very good, but nothing like this. As a man who usually gets bored with talking after some time, I wasn’t, and it’s different. I’m trying to understand why this person has become so prominent in my life in such a short period.
Was going to the cafe for months without anything happening, just random flirts, the foreplay to the real affair that we are currently living. Or am I being immature and foolish, getting involved with a person I barely know in such a short time? We arranged to meet tomorrow, which is a bank holiday in England, but not in Brazil.
Although we didn’t meet today, it was still enjoyable.
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
