Tuesday 22nd August – late afternoonOn my way back home, I start musing about being caught between two cultures. Frustration overcomes me. How many times do they have to voice their disdain at my being English? Why can’t they simply accept it? Like I accept that most of the other second generation Sicilians are closer to their roots. They go to mass on Sundays and are devious the rest of the week. I am atheist like my father. My relatives go back to The Village nearly every summer. I haven’t been for over four decades. This distancing of mine irks them. Obviously, there is resentment there. Some put it down to the fact that my mother died when I was young. I went astray from there. That is total rubbish. Long before that, I had taken the decision to be English, when I was about twelve, or
