The Election is on today. France will have a new President soon. Those who are voting blank are voting for Sarkozy. They will moan and bitch afterward without realising their refusal to vote against him is a vote for him. He may be the tonic France needs. He worries me. He looks too eager. Strange that his father came from Hungary. I wonder what this country holds for my boys future?
My son is here with us. I am extremely tired. I think I may have had a flu and although now I have come through it I am completely knackered.
My Parents are selling the family home in Ireland. It is causing me some problems. I knew I was attached to my place, my space. Since I have left Ireland I have had to redefine my identity. I had never before had to explain what an Irishman is until I came here. I knew then it was only my explanation, not any other Irishman's or Irishwoman's.
I have watched people make assumptions and crack jokes and completely misinterpret what goes for normal back home. The notion the French have of Irish people is a little like that of those who think French men ride bicycles with strings off onions around their necks, while their wives smoke long cigarettes and wear suspenders under knee length pencil skirts.
Now there is another straw being pulled away. Another thread opened and unraveled. When I go home next, where will home be?
It is certainly not here, not yet. I haven't been able to seep my spirit into the soil and find a connection.
I wonder if there is a reason for that?
Imaginary Authors: Violet Disguise, Every Storm a Serenade, Saint Julep - Evocative biographical notes, labels of collaged imagery, Imaginary Authors builds stories fulfilled in perfume. They are casual yet glamorous, and each o...
3 weeks ago