Good morning lovely people,
We’re back, recharged and ready for the best season to be in our beautiful city; Festival, Fringe, Grayson Perry Exhibition and Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo, so many treasures.
David Harewood’s autobiography was a treasure, but one that contained far more pain than I was expecting. Stories this truthful and raw should be part of our national curriculum. Changing generational perception takes time, I won’t accept it’s not an impossible mission. Sharing these stories is an essential part of that mission. History isn’t hundreds of years ago, it’s yesterday. Yesterday’s news can be far more shocking. The thread, as per the title, “Maybe I Don’t Belong Here” resonated initially but only very lightly, and almost superficially in comparison, even from the first few pages.
Our immigrant conflict of “Italian Scots” always comes to light when we’re on holiday.
Comfortably propped and deep in my reading, something I very rarely do at home, it was the start to a lovely rest. Sitting under a parasol, factor 30 and lost to the sound of the waves and “Cocco Bello ” being sung around me. My Italian is rubbish so I feel at home as long as I don’t have to talk too much or am in direct sunlight. I’m close to vampiresk when exposed to anything over 20 degrees, a dilemma of identity in itself. Victor on the other hand is in his element. It can never be hot enough, his glasses naturally darken like his skin, walking along the beach, phone in hand (his favourite technical accessory) and parliamo italiano like a native. My days were spent stuck in my books, his were stuck on every Italian artisan website, talking to everybody’s aunt and uncle sourcing new products. His natural habitat. Our new mozzarella is from a third generation family in Campagnia. It took four days to source, he hired a car, spent the day in their caseificio, ate kilos of cheese, made new friends for life, leaving No 2 daughter and I in perfect peace.
A few days later we headed to Rome to drop this precious treasure off to study Italian for the month. It’s not an impossible mission that she’ll be speaking far better than me by the end of July. Thanks to the Italian Government, scholarships are available for children of similar backgrounds as ours. Brexit might stop Erasmas but thankfully heritage still has some perks.
Rome had a few other visitors arriving at the same time as us, the latest Mission Impossible film premier. The reviews are in and it’s looking amazing. We’re big fans. “If I let you know where I am, I won’t be on holiday”. Victor is clearly an IMF (I’m a mozzarella fan) cheeseman not an IMF agent. It’s on our cinema list for after the summer when we’re all back together as a family. These blockbusters are not the sort of film you want to see on Netflix; the full screen, surround sound immersive moments are essential.
Clearly inspired by Ethan Hunt, Victor felt so at home that he wanted to re-enact previous films. His phone, and favourite appendage, accidentally fell out of his pocket getting out of a taxi, too engrossed in the chat with the driver, he didn’t notice until he was checking our flight home at the restaurant table. Desperate times, desperate measures. It wasn’t IMP it was FMI, Find My IPhone agent, that amazing Apple App. Victor thought he’d be able to follow the flashing, moving dot on my phone at 1am in the morning in a Fiat 500 X taxi across Rome, when I was in my bed. Victor may look, source mozzarella and eat like Stanley Tucci but he’s definitely not Tom Cruise. A new phone has now arrived and he’s back on call. The mozzarella di bufala delivery arrived yesterday, It’s totally delicious. A great holiday, feeling at home everywhere, new mozzarella supplier, a daughter on an adventure, Nonna G had her adventure too, Rocco has had a bath after his and overall mission accomplished.
Keep well, have fun, read David’s book or you can borrow my copy.
Carina
