Who am I
My name, and it is my given name, is Osyth. One day I’ll bore you with the story. Not today though. Today is an explanation of where I’ve sprung from. Leonard Cohen has a wonderful line (it’s in ‘So Long Marianne’) – he says ‘Oh you are such a pretty one – I see you’ve gone and changed your name again!’ Well when I am rich and famous, doubtless people will trawl around and find I’ve had lots of names but Osyth has always been constant. Though she was the shy one hiding in the shadows. Now she is taking tentative steps into the light. I like the light. I have written for as long as I can remember and for almost as long people have said ‘you really should write’ – so here I am revealing my hand, taking petits pas and rather enjoying the feeling.
I am English born though I have blood from each stripe of The Union Jack plus a dollop of French from my ancestors who crossed with Guillaume (le Conquerant for the avoidance of doubt – that William indeed) in 1066 and as rumour has it, and I care to cling to, a smattering of Guyanan slave blood too. That I was born in England does not make me English you see. I have moved around the place so often that it was impossible for me to put down roots. Unkind observers said I was running away. Perhaps I was but I do think that to run away you have to be running FROM something and I never quite worked out what that was. There are stories and stories and stories and I will share them if you will listen.
For now all you need to know is that I moved to Le Cantal, one of the least populated departments in France, indeed one of the least populated areas of Europe, in 2013. And I loved it like the love of my life. But things change or at least they alter and in 2017 I moved to Grenoble. And I loved it like the love of my life. Eighteen months after that I moved to the USA. To Massachusetts. And I didn’t love it, not even a smidge. I fell down a toxic rabbit hole and it took me many waxings and wanings to climb out. Now, rejuvenated and regenerated I am ready to embrace the now. And here’s the thing. I realise that in that dark, throttling despair, I never ever stopped believing that all you need really IS love. Roots follow.