Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 12 degrees, cold, grey, rainy and miserable.
It’s Wednesday, the middle of the week. If I were in Brazil in the past, it would have been an excuse to go out, meet someone, buy some beers or wine, have a drink, and listen to some good music or watch a film.
I could go out with Julie, but I have a class at 11:00 p.m., which takes up the whole night, and earning money is more important than spending it on pleasure.
The day began with a coffee and a call from Julie. We chatted for a good half-hour before I needed to do some exercise, and Julie had to get ready for work. My workout was good; I gave classes until early afternoon and also posted a blog, so all was well. I had an NHS appointment at 4:00 p.m. to confirm my registration at my new GP’s clinic in Kingswinford, near where Julie lives.
As usual, my mother was overbearing and insisted on taking me by car to the health clinic. It’s only a half-hour walk, but she wanted her own way and insisted on it. The weather was a bit shitty and cold, but not too bad to walk there. I arrived at the clinic a little before 4. I had to wait 10 to 15 minutes, and then I was called into a consultation room.
Charlotte, a plump young woman, attended to me; it was clear she was from around Wordsley or Kingswinford, as her heavy accent gave her away. She was very friendly and explained everything. She took my blood pressure, weighed me, and collected my urine sample for testing. She also printed out some labels and handed them to me along with a paper listing contacts for me to organise a blood test.
Everything went very smoothly and quickly. She also explained that my medical documents from 40 years ago, from the now-closed Wollaston GP clinic, might be difficult to locate, but they would eventually be found. I thanked Charlotte; she was very helpful. However, I also had to go to the clinic’s reception before leaving to officially register myself online.
Once again, Allison, the receptionist I recognised from previous visits because of my mother, was very attentive. Everything was sorted out quickly, and I was back outside in the cold in no time. Julie lives on the opposite street, a five-minute walk from the clinic. I called her, and she told me she was walking Austin in the churchyard and its grounds, next to her street.
I crossed over to the church, a beautiful old English church with beautiful grounds. It was a little cold and drizzly, but the grounds of the old medieval-style church were quite beautiful. The church itself was not very large; it was too big to be a Chapel but still relatively small for a church. What was clear was that it was in very good condition and well presented. The person administering the church and its grounds is doing a very good job.
I saw them both from afar. When Austin recognised that it was me, he ran over excitedly and made a big fuss, clearly happy to see me. I kissed Julie, and we strolled around the church grounds. Other people were walking their dogs, so it now seems quite normal to walk your dog in a graveyard.
Austin was loving it; he was in his element. We crossed into the adjoining park, which also struck me with its beautiful landscaping and a pond at its centre. We saw ducks and swans, and for me, it was strange how it went completely unnoticed from the main road, entirely hidden.
This really amazed me. I have passed along the main road in front of the park many times, but I had never noticed how beautiful and interesting it is. We spent a good hour wandering around. We had to go, but there was nothing to do, only to go back to our respective homes, and we didn’t want to do that yet. We decided to have a coffee. There is a trading estate within walking distance, and in front of it, there is a McDonald’s, an ALDI supermarket, and a Costa Coffee.
When I arrived in England in November, I met my mother for the first time in ages at Wolverhampton train station. We went to Costa Coffee, but I found it quite disappointing. It was a dirty place with grimy tables and shitty, weak coffee.
Although my first experience with Costa Coffee was poor to say the least, this place was different—a lovely prefabricated modern café building with high ceilings, beautiful tables, lounge chairs, and a variety of snacks and cakes to enjoy. It almost seemed like it wasn’t the same coffee franchise as the one at the train station the first time.
We asked if we could come in with Austin, and it was allowed. We found some charming armchairs with a coffee table near a full-height window. We bought cappuccinos and a cake to share. This time, everything was perfect: the coffee, the cake, it was all sublime.
I wanted to find a biscuit to give to Austin. I asked the attendant at the counter if he had any complimentary biscuits, but they didn’t. I found this cereal bar to buy, and he kindly said that it was on the house; it was not necessary for me to pay.
How kind is that?
I thanked them for their kind gesture. We stayed a little longer and left. I walked Julie and Austin to their street, we kissed goodbye, and I walked home.
For the rest of the evening, I worked and gave classes, and everything was good. Julie sent various messages thanking me for the afternoon, and I answered, saying that it was reciprocal and good for both.
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
