Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 8 degrees, chilly, overcast, rain in the morning, but the sky is clear with sun later in the day.
It is Easter Monday in England, a bank holiday, but a regular working day in Brazil. Brazil’s Easter bank holiday was on Good Friday, and in some cases, it also included Thursday.
I was a bit unsure whether to work today or not. However, since it was a bank holiday and there was a chance to meet Julie for a late breakfast or brunch, I decided to seize the opportunity for some quality time with my lovely, little, perfect woman.
I got up at 6:00 a.m., with heavy rain outside, so the chance of us going for a walk was almost zero. I did a series of exercises in the back living room, made myself a coffee, and relaxed in the armchair in front of the patio doors, looking out onto the garden.
Occasionally, a small bird would fly to one of the two feeders I had bought, stay for a few seconds, have a quick look around, and then fly off at warp speed. Sometimes they would return several times. I enjoy admiring my mother’s small garden; it is very pretty, and with the increased movement of birds, it is quite charming.
All I wanted was to relax in the large, dark green armchair, doing nothing for at least five or ten minutes to think about my plans. Then, I received a message from Julie. She called me, and, as always, we talked and laughed for quite some time, only stopping when someone had to attend to an outside matter beyond our little world.
She suggested that we go to Hagley, the finest part of Stourbridge, which is nearly in the countryside, on the border, and find a place to have either brunch or a late lunch. It was now about half past 8, almost 9; she would pick me up around 11, and we would set off for the day.
We passed through Stourbridge and continued farther into the British countryside, where winding roads lined with beautiful, dark green and brown trees, hardened by the harsh English weather, led to fields of farmland upon farmland that had probably been seeded or would be seeded very soon.
I haven’t been to Hagley for over 40 years, and as we drove down, I could see the signs of good taste and money, but nothing struck me as particularly special. I expected more. Again, high hopes, but the reality fell short.
Julie found a place to park on the High Street, so we could walk down and look at the few shops there. In 15 minutes, we had seen everything. On the way back to the car, we passed a coffee shop we had seen earlier, and I suggested we stop for a coffee. We entered, and it was quite small and dark, but the interior design was very interesting, using varnished chipboards as the primary material.
There were only about ten tables in the whole place, and a counter at the back for customers to order and pay. We found the central table, ordered our coffees, and relaxed there for at least half an hour. We admired the ingenious use of the golden-coloured, gloss-varnished chipboard, which contrasted with the dark brown or black-painted walls. I will warm next to our table, which was the only wall that was painted white; the others were all dark.
As Julie is a barista, we discussed the place and the coffee. She had ordered a Chai latte, which I didn’t quite know what it was, and I just had a simple large cappuccino. Both were served quickly and beautifully presented, but a little cold; warm to be generous. How can you serve a cold coffee or tea? It’s like serving a hot beer to cariocas in the middle of summer.
It just doesn’t work or make sense!
We asked about the interior design, and they said it was the owner’s choice, who, in my opinion, has exceptionally good taste. We left, thanking them and not mentioning the cold coffees, and continued walking back to the car. I wanted to learn more about Hagley and whether it was just this.
A fit, modern-looking elderly couple who were walking past us, I decided to turn round and ask, “Excuse me, can I ask you a stupid question?” They promptly and obligingly turned around, with smiles on their faces, and answered all my questions about Hagley and the local area. After my doubts were all addressed, we thanked them and returned to the car.
It was nearing 1:00, lunchtime, and there were various options for good food nearby, similar to those found in Leblon, Rio de Janeiro, or Jardins, São Paulo. We decided to visit ‘The Dog at Harvington’—just the name appeals to me; we had driven past it when we went to Worcester a week ago.
We entered from the main road into the enormous car park of the pub. It was evident that it was set up to make a lot of money. The pub itself was pretty large. Before getting out of the car, we had a kiss, but our hunger was screaming for us to go and eat something.
On entering the pub again, you could see that it was a serious setup, with many traditional green English fabrics, panelled walls decorated with paintings and wildlife figures depicting English aristocracy. The girl our maître showed us to an enclosed section with heavy stonework everywhere — on the walls, the floors, and the enormous fireplace. She led us to a sunken part of the room, which required descending 5 or 6 steps to reach, to a table in front of the beautifully lit fireplace. It was lovely; the place was very impressive, and we had lunch.
Julie ordered scampi and chips, and I had fish and chips, both very traditional and very good, although I wouldn’t say exceptional, but nearly there. Even though I wasn’t driving, I didn’t order a wine; I just ordered a bottle of sparkling water, which came in a beautiful, small bottle that I had never seen before.
Before receiving our meals, we talked, and Julie almost cried at one point, saying that she was not used to a man being so attentive. I was a little surprised and concerned, and although it was a nice compliment, I didn’t want it to spoil our day or upset her.
After sharing a cheesecake dessert and paying the bill, we were on our way again. After some kissing and quality time, it was time to head back to Wordsley and face reality.
It was clear we didn’t want to part ways just yet, so we parked the car at our favourite spot behind the library, opposite the Green, and took a walk around Wordsley Park. About 20 metres from us, a group of dog owners and their dogs were gathered, and then their dogs came over to us voluntarily and joined in. First a Beagle, then a Labrador, and finally a large Bordeaux, a French dog with an enormous head.
We eventually got back to the car, and Julie dropped me off at about 6:00 p.m. The whole day together was delightful.
In bed by 9:00 p.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
