This evening has brought me a lovely pleasant. First of all, I am going to copy and paste a status update I wrote a little earlier:
“Please, someone from England, send me some Cadbury’s chocolate. I miss the sweet scent of Dairy Milk blowing over from Bournville. I cry when I can’t get that Friday feeling without a Crunchie. Easter isn’t Easter without a Twirl Easter Egg with a mug, and maybe some Buttons inside. The Caramel bunny….is it wrong to be turned on by a rabbit?”
Well, I then got a delightful message from a Jess Noe, a Catracha-adopted-Scouser, who went to the great city of Liverpool last year. She met a Liverpudlian and she’s looking to make it back to the land of Beatles and Tate and football and shell-suits, and it seems she’s in a similar situation Pamela and myself were in last year, when I was back in Brum and she was here. Anyway, to get back to the point, I bumped into Jess and her mother in the ICYE offices before I left Honduras in 2011 and I stayed in contact with Jess whenever I could. Tonight though, like angels from Heaven (Heaven being Miraflores, close to where I was living before), they fluttered down to Las Colinas and dropped off some Cadbury’s Buttons and Fudge. As they say in Liverpool, “I’m all made up, likeeee!” Unfortunately, I am not the generous type and I will not be sharing these lovely moments of pleasure with anyone. I looked on the back of the packets and it has the sweet name Bournville written on it. I remember working at Cadbury World and having the sweet scent of Cadbury’s breathe through my lungs. I doubt it did more harm than the succulent Danli cigars that I smoke here. Kraft would lose the magic of it if they tried to move the factories away. I’ve very fond memories of working there and I try to stay in contact with mates there, although it’s hard to do. They were great days, and looking down at the picture below goes alongside those great days. Scoffing chocolate for free and having naff all guilt about it.
While back in Europe, England smashed San Marino 8-0 and Spain drew 1-1 with Finland, here in Central America, there was a bit of showcase. Honduras v Mexico. The only way to imagine this back home is Mexico is England, looking down on the other home nations, a bit smug and arrogantly, saying cocky things to wind up the nearby nations (one famous Mexican footballer or coach once said that Honduras plays with a square ball!) while in reality, Mexico, like England, has little success on the world stage (i.e. World Cup). Honduras, on the other-hand, is like Scotland; brave, wanting to prove everyone wrong, passionate fans, sometimes a bit physical and not always pretty football (but sorry to the Scottish, especially my cousins, Honduras is still quite a lot better). Well, today, Honduras didn’t start too brightly and Mexico were looking good. Just after half time, Mexico were 2-0 up, on Honduras turf. There was a lot of rough play (people think the Premiership is physical!), elbows flying about, as well as a lot of hijo de puta lip-reading. I was sweating just watching. The match was in San Pedro, roughly six or seven degrees hotter than Tegus. At that point, my housemate Wilmer stopped watching, looked a bit pissed off and went back to his hometown Danli. I continued to watch. Then, against the run of play, Honduras pulled one back with twenty odd minutes to go. As always with games like that, confidence rises and Honduras changed their football style from San Marino to Spain in a matter of seconds, knocking it around like wizards and confusing the cocky little Mexicans. The pea, the Michael Owen lookalike who plays for Man United, to be fair, looked a bit roughed up. Soon after Honduras were awarded a penalty, which they scored on a rebound. All this was done without the crocked Wilson Palacios. Espinoza, Wigan’s new Catracho superstar, had a big role to play. The game finished 2-2. I got the feeling Honduras would have taken that before the game was played. Imagine Scotland doing that to England: it would in a way feel better than winning one or two nil in a dull game. Well done Honduras. You never really know which Honduras is going to turn up: the one that scrapes a draw with Panama or the one that beats USA 2-1 or Canada 8-1. But people seem happy.
The next part, it’s probably best that mum doesn’t read this, is a bit shocking but I am quite lucky. After the game, I got a message from Pam asking where I was. I had just come back from the local supermarket buying my evening ration of a six-pack of Salva Vida beer. She kept asking if I were okay. It seems, in the same supermarket I was in (in Plaza Miraflores), four armed men stormed in and hurt quite a few people. I don’t know whether it was the heat that made me delirious or something, but I didn’t notice anything different to normal, other than that there were less queues, which made me very, very happy. Nonetheless, I think myself very, very lucky, and not because of the short queues.
I am going to end with a Stereophonics song that I love. It has nothing to do with football, chocolate or armed men in supermarkets. It’s called Maybe. And it’s not Maybe Tomorrow like the famous one. It’s different. So there.