I'm not a sports fan I admit, although I have been totally absorbed in the Para Olympics. It's a pleasure to watch elite athletes who don't take themselves too seriously and who exhibit sheer joy in competing. There's a lesson to be learned by all from these wonderful people.
Sooooo, whilst the voice from the lounge blares out "you're a wanker umpire" or "bullshit, are you blind you dickhead" I sit here typing away thinking of things to say.
I have however, been reading a wonderful book called "Mezza Italiana" by Zoe Boccabella. Katy gave it to me and like her it has made me wish that a nice Italian family would take pity on me and adopt me and teach me everything Italian. I did get on the net and learn a few new phrases which I'll have to try out on the first random Italian I come across. The book is the story of a young girl growing up in Australia with an Italian father and an Australian mother and her rebelliousness against the very culture that later in adult life she embraces. She and her Australian born husband, who incidentally becomes almost more Italian than her, travel back to and live in the house in the little village of Fossa, Italy, that has belonged to her family for generations. It got me thinking though how it can affect you when you are born in a different country or into a different culture and be raised elsewhere.
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| Our street i n East ham for the Queens Coronation a month before I was born |
I was born in the East End of London and even though I was a baby when we migrated out here (Mum, Dad, my brother and me) I grew up hearing about all the places in London that my parents lived and worked in and the sort of things that they did with both of their families. Dad's family was very large with at least 12 or 13 surviving siblings, but I've never known what it was like to have Uncles, Aunties, Cousins etc. Plus I think as you get older you start to question where you belong. We shifted around so much when I was a child that I don't think I've ever put "roots" (and that's not Puberty Blues type roots either) down. The house we're in now is the longest I've ever lived anywhere and yet there is still something missing. I have been pondering this question and it occurred to me when I was looking at the photos that even though I was only a small baby when we lived in London I wonder whether living in the old Victorian '2 up 2 down' as we did had an effect on me. Maybe the security I felt even then is something that I got from the old house and that feeling is what I've been looking for and why old houses are so appealing.
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| My brother and me in London not long before coming to Australia |
Don't get me wrong I love it and where we live but there's still that sense of not belonging and I do wonder whether that will ever change. Anyhoo that's my D&M for today, hopefully tomorrow I shall think of something light and fluffy to write. Until then Ciao
