I would elbow my mum when she spoke Italian in England, until I realised each part of my identity is more than just a ‘half’In our end of year series, writers and public figures remember the place or time when they felt most at homeSince I was small, I have liked sitting on stairs to read. In my childhood home, in Nuneaton, I favoured the square of carpet between the two flights, positioned directly opposite the wall-mounted clock, so I could keep an eye on how many pages I could squeeze in before bed. My favourite place to read, though, has always been the red tiled steps that lead to the front door of my nonna’s house in Puglia. There are photos of me and my cousins on those steps at every age. If I close my eyes, I can feel the terracotta under my hands, somehow always warm, even in deepest winter.Throughout my childhood, I grappled with the question: “Ti senti più inglese o più italiana?” – do you feel more English or more Italian? I’m British-Italian, and most of my family live...
