|This entry dedicated to…|
|Mom, who was convinced I should visit my relatives|
|Steca, whose friendship over the years led to a cranberry & brei sandwich|
|It is morning. The soft, diffuse light of morning pokes through the curtains. I close my eyes again and relax in bed, savouring the sensation of waking up. Then I bound downstairs and find out that it is not morning - it is 14:30! Silly jet lag… Glenys makes up some bacon and pancakes. The latter are thin, which she apologies for (unnecessarily, really) and I top them with honey and lemon and sugar. And then we need to go to "town" because I remember, suddenly, that I've lost my camera. Since this is the third time I've done this now, I tend to be completely unworried when it happens - not so those around me.|
"Town" turns out to be just about a mile away and is probably better described as "downtown". On the way, Glenys tells me she doesn't go to town much. Heading to the train station, we pass what looks like a store, but, in fact, turns out to be the Lost & Found center where all lost and found things are sent (if only the U had such a centralised system!). A few key punches on the computer bring up my camera, which is also listed as having memory and $20, which I hadn't previously known was in there. I'm charged four pounds for getting it back, but, personally, I think it's worth it. Since my camera was also returned to me in Haiti, all places can be judged relative to Haiti using this camera test. I'm glad England passed.
|We go by a church and oddly shaped building (depicted to the right). We then pass through the open-air market where aggressive sellers hawk cocoa fruit at us. This part of town is called "The Bullring" because Birmingham used to have a bull market here; now, it's a giant shopping complex.|
|Normally, the presence of a shopping complex wouldn't make me too happy, but there's something about this one…|
|We have supper down by the canal at the Handmade Burgers shop, where I have a cranberry and brie chicken burger. As we're sitting there, I'm thinking about how nice it is that none of the canals anywhere have guard-rails. I shouldn't have thought this, though, because someone rides his bike off the tiled walkway and right in. (Usefully, I now know that the canal's about waist deep here.) He climbs out, mostly unhurt, and towels are rushed out of the restaurant for him.|
After dinner, we drive back to the house where Glenys and I watch a TV special about a girl whose brother was killed by a knife-wielding teen. Apparently knife violence is an issue in Britain.