The life altering tale of a woman without a home

I had a pretty traumatic thing happen to me this weekend. It's shocked me to my very core and made me question all there is that defines me.

On Saturday, before embarking on my 3 film cinema marathon (check out filmsworthseeing for more info on that) I decided that three cards through my letterbox reminding me that I needed to do my census was enough to make me do it.

I sat down with my lap top, imagined I was a secret agent as I entered in my secret code and proceeded to fill in the questionnaire.

1st section revealed nothing apart from making me realise just how boring my life in census world is.

Seriously, those guys should throw in a more interesting question every now and then, like "What's your favourite item of furniture in the house you live in right now?" followed by "On as scale of 1 to 10 - how much would you say you loved it?"

Anywho - I digress.

The 2nd section was about me as a person and where I came from (in terms of 'town I was born in' rather than 'how I was made').

Fun fact about me you may not know - I was actually born on a tiny pebble of an island in between France and England called Guernsey in the Channel Islands.





Although I was already aware that this didn't make me an 'English born' person, I had a British passport so I still felt I belonged.

On the day of the census filling however, this changed.

When asked to pick out which country I was born in from the list, I noticed I didn't appear, so I ticked 'other' and manually entered in my little island.

Upon clicking on 'next' I was taken to a page that asked me for the month and year of when I first entered the UK.

Perplexed and certain that I had been sent to the page in error, I clicked next without filling in anything.

That pesky red writing was suddenly all over my screen telling me that I was wrong for hitting next.

After yelling back at the screen, stating that I'm obviously right and it's the computer who's the idiot, I clicked the next button three more times, convinced that somehow one of those times it would change it's mind and give me a different answer.

It didn't.

After 5 minutes of further stern words with the stubborn website I then noticed the 'Help' sign in the top right hand corner.

I clicked on it and here people is where I faded away into nothingness as my very identity was ripped away from me...

Apparently Guernsey isn't part of the United Kingdom. Apparently it's just that little too far off to qualify.

The fact that it wasn't part of the UK was bad enough, what was worse however was that I had NO CLUE what Guernsey was a part of.

Then I thought "pants... am I French?" This worried me as I don't even know the language and I'm not exactly a massive fan of garlic... I mean I'll eat it if it's there but it's not like I crave it or anything. It's just so smelly.

I phoned my mother in full crisis mode and she assured me that I wasn't secretly French and didn't need to start taking language lessons.

However, I fear that this is worse... who am I? When I fill out application forms, what nationality do I put? I'm like a nomad, an eternal wanderer, wanted by no country.

I can't even get back into Guernsey because they're so picky and won't take anyone who hasn't lived there for 15 years. I left the Channel Islands and (emigrated it would seem) to England when I was 2!

My identity is crushed. If anyone is knowledgeable in the culture of the Channel Islands and can shed some light on where I belong I would be most grateful as it would save me from losing my sense of self altogether.

Much love.