In the late afternoon on a sunny day in 1966 my ride from Paris dropped me off on the outskirts of Venice

Aunt Jean would read popular psychology books on the #50 trolley as it bounced down Fourth Street in fits and starts toward Passyunk Avenue.

The source of the Actor’s anxiety arrives on the set, his partner in the scene, a male with dangling testicles each the size of grapefruit.

I look at this clean-shaven man with dark eyes and a sharp jaw. He’s Australian and talks about my dating profile.

We’d hollow out rock hard swedes with sharp knives. When we lit the stump of a candle inside them, the smell of singed swede was beguiling.

Everyone fancies the coach driver. But it’s me he’s staring at. I notice as soon as I clatter up the metal steps.

In 1975, my family emigrated from England to Australia. I escaped from a cold, dank, inner-city London to the bright sunshine of Perth.

It was the summer of 1938 in Lansford, Pennsylvania. The town’s only industry was a deep coal mine whose workers were primarily Polish