I would like to start with some sad news about Colin, who passed away a couple of weeks ago. He was a neighbour of mine in Hall Green; an interesting character with many-a-musical-talent and a wonderful quirky sense of humour. He donated some money to me to come to Honduras back in 2010 and he had been reading my blog in Honduras. He suffered an accident a few of years back but that didn’t stop him continuing his music, learning Spanish and writing about a book about busking (if I remember right – my good friend Niku Mehta, who was also his chiropodist, told me). As I said, I was told by many people that he read my blog and enjoyed it, so if you’re looking down from Heaven, this is for you. I hope your family are okay in their mourning and I dedicate this song from a brummie busker called Andy Gayle playing a reggae version of “I can see clearly now the rain has gone” on the trumpet (or sax, I’m not musical, I don’t know the different). Thanks for your support, Colin!! And thanks too to Denise if you’re reading!
I have found a job at the Academia Europa in Lomas teaching English. It doesn’t pay very well, but I wasn’t expecting it to. I’m holding out for an NGO job but I suppose my CELTA qualification is coming in handy. Doing class plans takes me ages and I hope it is only temporary. The staff seem nice, as do the students. I hate being ripped off by taxi drivers to get there though. I have to wait and see if I was successful with another interview. Cross fingers.
Today, I gritted my teeth and wrote a poem about Honduras. It’s not the most optimistic poem, and I am sorry if it offends some Hondurans, but sometimes when you think about what is going on here and how honest people lose out, it can make you feel pissed off.
Devoured at both endsGood people are devoured at both ends, Like Lady & The Tramp; the scene with the spaghetti, People plough, swindle and strive for every centavo they can get, While politicians and gangs sprinkle their misery like confetti. Honduras scoffs itself and nobody can stop it, Ripping out chunks of the resources it once had. Young people are exploited and the elderly die working, And no cares for poor, crazed or mad. Pride? Crushed with pointed fingers, Though the guilty dodge the bullets of blame with ease, While the blood pours and pours and pours, And innocents, like always, are brought to their knees.