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.