Tour de Reino Unido – part seis

Dear readers,

Thursday 10th July 2014

Home sweet home! Pamela had her obligatory interrogation from the UKBA plebs to enter the country. For advice to anyone entering the UK who is foreign, get an invitation from my mum and dad. It seems to work a treat. They could make a tidy sum. I walked right through and collected the bags. Mum and dad sat patiently as ever as hundreds of people rushed around in the Heathrow arrivals area. A nice car ride back to Birmingham and a nap, Pamela and I went for a nice late afternoon stroll around the neighbourhood up to Hall Green Parade, and then spending a nice 30 mins in Sarehole Mill who for those not in the know is where JR Tolkien grew up (it’s anagram is unfortunately Arsehole Mill). It has a pretty little river (or is it called a brook) running through it named the River Cole and it’s where I spent many of my childhood days playing games in the park and stickleback and tadpole fishing.

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Hall Green Parade

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Sarehole Mill

Pamela was walking eyes open wide everywhere, finding the veiled Muslim women fascinating. “I don’t wanna wear one though!” She had been in London for a day three years before and she didn’t enjoy it much. People were rude and it was cold. Her impressions of England changed completely thanks to Brum because she was smiling. We were lucky with the weather. The sun was smiling brighter than Pamela. We then made our way to Tolkien’s old house on Wake Green Road.

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I was thinking of taking Pam to Moseley Bogs but her foot attire didn’t look up to it. Instead I took her for some potato scallops at a chippy that she seemed to enjoy. If you don’t know what they are, they basically round pieces of potato in the fish batter, which makes me hungry just thinking of them.

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We then went home for a lovely Roast Beef dinner with horseradish sauce and steamed veggies and Pamela’s view of English cookery changed forever. The rest of the world don’t know what they are missing when they say bad things about our cuisine. I don’t care. More for me. Well, maybe not in Honduras but in general. The French eat snails, the Italians have tried to cheat me with a frozen lasagne and I ate various suspicious meals in Spain. It’s time to open your eyes Monsieur Johnny Foreigner. My gosh, I’m beginning to sound a bit UKIP’ish!

That night, sleep defeated us. The next day, I had an early rise.

About Nicholas Rogers

I am an English journalist/copywriter living in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and I have been here since 2011. I originally came to work with Casa Alianza, which supports street kids and vulnerable youths. I then stayed on, after meeting Pamela Cruz Lozano, who calls me her adopted Catracho. I work freelance journalism and I have my own translation business. Why did I come here? For the challenge, to open my mind and get out of my comfort zone. I love literature and I've written a book with street kids. I write novels, short stories and poetry, all of which you will find on this blog, as well as a lot of information about Honduras. View all posts by Nicholas Rogers

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