‘Vous êtes anglais, je suppose?’ A question frequently posed to me in France. To which I reply: ‘C’est compliqué.’ To be honest, I’m not sure. If one passport is good, two are better. I have three. Crise d’identité.
In France, I am Irish, thanks to my grandmother, born in County Antrim. In Canada, I am Canadian, having been born there. Albeit I left aged ten months. In Britain, where I spent much of my childhood, I am British, as my parents were.
My British passport is essentially useless. It’s in a drawer somewhere. I don’t need it to fly to Britain
It’s the nationality equivalent of a multi-phasic personality disorder. I suppose I could now even get a French passport, but this seems greedy. It would theoretically permit me to be elected president, which would be to the great benefit of the Republic, but I’m not sure my neighbours would endorse my project of restoring the monarchy and driving on the left.
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