Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 6 degrees, stormy, rainy and very miserable.
Monday is the beginning of the week, and it is always a good start if the weekend was good.
The weekend was very good with a day visit to Kinver Edge, and the town for lunch with Julie on the Saturday, and even though we did not meet yesterday due to terrible British shitty weather, we talked a lot, made plans, and we each relaxed in our respective abodes.
I had decided the night before that I would go to the cafe on the green early, find a table near the wall to use a socket for my laptop and work as much as possible until about midday, 1:00 p.m.
The morning was cold and rainy, so I had to do my exercise inside, change, and walk to the cafe in the freezing drizzle. The day later cleared up, but at 8:30 in the morning, the wind was cutting through me like a knife on the way to the cafe.
When I arrived, Jim, the Scottish owner, greeted me kindly. I asked if I could use his electricity and Wi-Fi, and he said it was no problem. I bought a pot of tea with limes and began to organise my workspace at the small two-person table next to the wall.
I set up my laptop, and in a short time, I was preparing a blog post for the same day from scratch. When it was finished, I made the final modifications and posted it. I then began my journaling, which had a backlog of two days. Although it wasn’t a lot, if I didn’t get it done, it could quickly accumulate in a short period.
I got to make one entry during this time. I ordered a cappuccino, paid for a small meal that I gave up on for another day, but instead bought a sandwich.
When I paid for the small meal, I also paid for a cappuccino. I then knew that the cappuccino would be filling, so I asked if I could have the meal another day instead of today, as I didn’t feel like it. Instead, I preferred a sausage sandwich and decided to forget about the meal. Jim offered to give me my money back, but I said it was not necessary; I would have it another day, now I have credit in the house, and besides, I know where he lives.
During my time in the cafe, various locals and natives would either sit next to me at different tables to chat or approach me to ask what I was doing and what I was writing about, and in some cases, why.
It is amusing how, in such a short time, I have managed to make friends on a simple yet deeply endearing level. I call it a simple level because it is clearly not a profound friendship built over years and circumstances; it is a friendship based on people repeatedly visiting the same place and eventually talking, and so on.
I do not think this is a bad thing; it is good, but you never truly know who you are really opening yourself up to.
Patrick, the retired Irishman, the ex-security guard and antique trader, who told everyone to be careful of me, but really, he is harmless enough; he doesn’t know me, and he doesn’t pay my bills.
Dan, a relatively young man whose mother owns a local pub. Still, because of his mental and physical disabilities, he has problems walking, and he’s always talking extremely loudly and aggressively at others at times. I had to call his attention to his aggressiveness today.
It is clear to me that he uses his disability as a shield, an excuse not to be punished for being bad, a bit like you don’t hit a man wearing glasses, but some do.
And Mark, the most educated, cultured and discreet of them all. Julie had told me that his wife had died of cancer recently. He’s a very friendly and educated person. He’s in his early 50s but looks much older than me; it’s not me who says that, but others. Every time we meet, we talk about politics, the economy, and pension funds.
There is always something to talk about with him, so during my 2½, almost 3 hours in the cafe, I managed to publish a blog post from scratch, journal and communicate with the natives on all levels. Meanwhile, Julie was serving, receiving people, taking orders, and trying to disguise her fisheye as she watched me.
When I left, I bid everyone goodbye. I wanted to kiss Julie, but she was too embarrassed, and I respected her will.
When I arrived home, I began revising all the blog posts of ‘The Long Gringo’ blog, a total of 180 of them. I managed to complete half of them today, and I will probably finish the rest tomorrow, or if not, later this week.
It feels so rewarding to do something good or even proactive for what is yours. My blog is mine, and I have to look after it, a bit like a dog or a pet, or even your own business; it’s yours, and if you don’t look after it, then eventually you will lose it.
I am pleased with its evolution, but there is still much more to be done. I only hope that it will help others because that is the primary purpose of it.
I am tired; it’s been a very productive day.
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
