I grew up in the part of New York where they kept the cows. My town was surrounded by hills and “mountains” and was made of trees, rusty trucks, Victorian mail order houses, and factory and quarry workers. No one was rich. Lots of us were really poor. I wanted to get away, but I will always be of that place.

I’ve lived in lots of places, but I never thought I’d end up here in London. Sure, there were hints of my anglophilia as a child, but even when I went abroad, living where I thought there was such a similar culture wouldn’t be all that interesting. I was so wrong.

Maybe the connection I felt as a child was just the call of my destiny. The foreshadowing of the love of my life and the country that has become mine by choice. This is about him, but mostly about me.

There’s also a cat involved in all this. A big, fat, expensive cat.

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