From my tender age of 17 and a month, I have lived on my own, supporting myself by having multiple jobs and even trying to finish my studies. Though I have never been a studyhead, I somehow managed through the years to pick up quite a few languages, which I seem to speak quite reasonable even today.
The sad thing about being able to speak languages is that it has to be backed up with something and I was always told I was not good enough, not pretty enough, my mum told me that if she could afford to buy Christian Dior I would have probably succeeded to make that dress look like I was wearing a potato sack.
Presently I like to think that perhaps someone might have told me that I was quite pretty, contrary to what my mother always told me.
Still I left my “youth” behind and worked, never realizing I might have other qualities. I worked quite often as a receptionist/ secretary because I was probably quite nice to people, I really have no idea.
You see when your parents meddle with your head, you have two choices, or you start to hate them, or you tend to forget the whole thing, like I did.
I also remembered that I used to send presents home, in order to reminder myself that I had also other family than the one living with me.
Once I finished my relationship I had to live on my own and I somehow landed near Paddington. Around there it was quite International Affair and I fitted in like a glove.
I found some Italians, who taught me their language, while I had something to eat there.
I got to know them quite good enough to go on adventures with them, like Portobello Road on a Saturday morning and when it got to cold, we used to all go early evening to the sauna somewhere.
One or two of them had girlfriends, the rest was hanging on, laughing, joking and surviving.
The group probably existed of 10 -1 4 guys, mostly Italians and then some Catalunya’s (think Barcelona) because they could understand the Italian language easily and they worked with some of the guys.
I grew up with boys, fought with boys, played loads of soccer with boys and so found it quite normal to be permanently surrounded by boys and even living with a lot of boys. Safety in numbers is very much a real thing, so I went from an onesit (VERY small room with one bed, no cupboards, perhaps one shelf, small oven which doubles as a heating appliance, shared freezing bathroom, showers did not exist then, combined with the shared toilet, single glass, often one broken…)to at first a nice apartment in Notting Hill, but after after a few months in which we have spaghetti parties every night with at least 15 guest a night, we had to move into a cellar underneath a greengrocer, near to Notting Hill, water coming down the walls, but it had a shower, separate toilet, smallish kitchen, two rooms filled with beds (6 or 8) one cupboard, no privacy, but for me it was heaven.
I slept on a double matrass with my besty Piero Dell’Anna which did not always go down well with his girlfriend, later his wife. Especially if they slept together and I was already on the matrass trying to sleep as good as I could.
But when you are young you can survive just about anything and waking up and being surrounded by your friends was utterly great. I always felt safe, eventhoug the area was definitely not.
I did also go out on my own or even with some girlfriends and one night we went into W1, there was suppose to be a French Discotheque with the loveliest of music and nice looking guys, so off we went there.
The girls obviously knew a lot of people and while they went to say hello and me not being French I became a bit bored. Thank God I loved dancing, so after one song I set myself up on the dancefloor and prepared myself to be on there till the boîte would close.
I did not need anyone to dance with me, I would not have known how to flirt, so I was quite happy to dance alone. I had seen quite a few boys, well dressed eyeing me, but I just ignored them.
All of a sudden, one of the boys came over and asked in fluent French if he could dance with me and would I like a drink. He was very charming and I was very much charmed, thus when the evening came to an end he offered me his bed and I gladly accepted it.
It was mutually love at first sight. He lived quite a way out and not allowed to take visitors up, so it was quite awkward to get in, especially the next morning when we had to slip out again preferably unseen by his landlady.. and me still in my eveningclothes.
So euuh where do you live?? And what will we do??
I offered him a trip to Portobello Road and my “home” address and off we went to my place. When we arrived, everybody else was already up and quite worried because I had not come home at all..
So when I came home with this guy they started to ask him and me loads of questions, where had I slept? Euh with my new boyfriend, where had I been.. but before I would answer any, I really needed a shower, so told him to ask him in French (well I had met him in a French Boîte you know) while I took my shower and could change.
Oh did I mention there was no privacy to be had in that place, so when friends came over and you had to change, the boys would move together so the guest(s) could not see, unless they had been over too often and did not even look anymore.
Well I knew all of them and I grabbed my towel changed quickly in front of the shower and took the shower while one of my friends continued to grill me about my where abouts that night… And what the hell was I thinking staying the night with a boy I did not know…
Afterwards surrounded by my towel and my clothing in the other hand I came back in the main room. Walked towards my suitcases and got my other stuff out, turned my back to the boys and got my clothes on.
Meanwhile my boyfriend was still being grilled, first in French but then the realizing everyone spoke Italian including him (he came from Rome) it got even more intense: who was he, what were his intentions, his background etc etc..
He was quite shocked: living with 8 boys was totally irresponsible, not having any privacy to undress a sin and being grilled by myself appointed brothers definitely not a pleasure…
We took off to go to Portobello Road and he bought me a lovely chain and arranged within the week to find a B&B where we could be together till he had to leave for Rome.