Make me somewhere...

Today is Sunday and the weather is absofuckinglutely fabulous! Yet I am indoors, listening to music and reading the paper. But I've got all the windows open so it's not all bad.

Unlike most Brits, I don't jizz myself at the sight of sunshine. I mean, I grew up in the bloody Caribbean. So I actually dodge the sun as much as the Brits embrace it. It doesn't help that I'm married to a complete sun whore, who, once we're in Trinidad, would happily spend eight hours on the beach...every single day! My response when people see the sun and get all excited is "No, it's ok thanks. I saw the sun once."

Anyway, I'm here today, iPod in the docking station/ speaker, soca blasting, sipping on various alcholic tipples and feeling particularly homesick. Mr Bunny is still in Libya, all my friends had previous commitments with other halves and what not this weekend, so I'm on my own, and it feels a bit rubbish. I've put on on my favourite playlist, which is of course packed with soca. And with the sunshine and me wearing not very much (but still enough to be seen in public in and not make anyone sick), I'm still feeling a bit down.

I get this way from time to time, not knowing where I belong, not having any 'roots' anywhere. I mean, I'm West Indian (which is what I tell people where they ask where I'm from. I sense disappointment when the answer isn't Nigeria or Ghana) and of course narrowed down to Trinidadian. But I've lived here for so long now and all but two of my friends are British. One of those friends has lived here since she was 11, so I don't always consider her West Indian (she's Jamaican), but she'd scratch my eyes out if she knew I'd said that.

A while ago, I had a slight panic attack when I realised that my future child/ children would not be fully Trini. It actually freaked me out. I mean, I knew they'd be mixed race, but it hadn't properly occurred to me that they wouldn't actually be 100% Trinidadian. My husband is half-Irish and half-Polish, and unless I have them in Ireland (the thought has crossed my mind), they'll be British. So it's fair to say that my kids will have a very diverse heritage. It worried me a bit. Are they going to feel at home anywhere? I mean, I know where I'm from, but will they feel the same way? I mean, what if they don't love soca or Carnival or pelau and macaroni pie and callalloo? What if they don't get how hilarious a meggie is and salivate at the mere mention of the word 'doubles'? And here comes the panic attack again!

One of my favourite songs is by a duo called Zero 7. It's called Home, and it is one of the most melodically pure and sweet songs I have ever heard in my life. And the chorus goes "Take me somewhere we can be alone. Make me somewhere I can call a home." And I guess in my semi-pissed, mega-maudlin state, it's resonating more than ever.

What's the solution? Well, right now, it would be to crack open that bottle of Cosmopolitan mix and get glugging. I mean, it's not as if I have to work tomorrow... ;)

Well sober me up!

I was watching 'Grand Designs' last night. It's this show where people build their dream homes while a smug presenter makes snide remarks and hopes it all goes tits up. So, this couple in London were gutting their Victorian terrace and completely remodeling it. They were doing the inside, but couldn't touch the exterior because of planning permission laws that say the exterior of these properties have to maintain their traditional look. They'd put in this metallic guttering so Mr Smug was like "Are there going to be problems with this, seeing as this is a conservation area? Is it going to have to be painted black?" and the equally smug homeowner replied "Well I don't think so. Our previous guttering was painted black only because our door was."

I then realised that if I lived on that street, and these tits were putting in silver guttering, I'd be straight on the phone to the local council to complain. And I guess that makes me a bit of a tit as well. Who knew I was so cantankerous? Am I acting out my old-age before I even hit thirty?

Twas a sobering thought indeed!