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That time I looked at pictures

“I love the passing of time
Never for money, always for love”
Two years ago I wrote about being from a place, but not understanding it. I’m from Stoke-on-Trent, but I don’t really understand it. I don’t think I ‘get’ the city, and I think many residents would struggle to understand me. Raised in an Irish Catholic family I was lucky enough to be loved, fed, educated and to  travel. I’m lucky to not know chaos, hunger, fear about my future or think that I didn’t matter. My parents didn’t have a lot, but they worked hard. I’m in no way ashamed of my working class roots, but I grew up knowing I was going to university, that I would continue my education and that I’d work; it was as certain as the sky was grey - which it usually is in Stoke. 
It’s from that background then that I look at Stoke-on-Trent, i know the city - I can give you directions from Trentham to Tunstall, but I don’t know the city. The pride that people from Burslem have in ‘The mother town’ baffles me, and Fenton is a stree…

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