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I’ve not found a place to belong. Ireland’s as flawed as the UK for me; at least blighty has London’s hurricane, all of an artform isn’t much the same.

I wanted France, when I was spotty. I think I’ll target Paris once this Irish phase has faded. It’s already fade.

But that’s so unimaginative; it’s a short nip across the shortest of the wet English borders. There’s so much more to our wee planet.

Yet I desire the things that you only find in complex cultures, in complex cultural mixtures. It’s the difference between old world and new world wines, perhaps not so ironically. Maybe I think of Europe, more than anywhere else because I’m European; I grew up with it, with its stories.

I’ll guess I’ll see what the choices are when the options arise. Not the anglosphere, though; I like to enjoy eating.