Profile: GRAHAM HOFMANN

About This Author

As a working-class lad from South Yorkshire, England, how could I ever have imagined that one day I would own a house in Italy? I knew the distinctive shape of Italy from primary school, a rhyme became etched into my brain: Big boot Italy kicked poor Sicily right into the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. Italy was a distant place, the land where the Romans came from. My childhood of black and white television presented images of the Colosseum in Rome, with police car chases and strange sounding sirens. Then, in colour, the film Ben-Hur, its climax being the chariot race and the blood covered body of the hero’s enemy. The spaghetti harvest hoax, at the time believed by many in the UK. From Roman Holiday to the Italian Job, Italy was an adventure. A land of pleasure, sunshine, song, blue sea and romance. Not forgetting the darker, mysterious face of Italy – the Mafia. And now I have a house in this Mediterranean country. Me, a house in Italy. A house purchased with nothing more than phrasebook Italian. The more time you spend in Italy, the more it becomes a passionate love affair. It’s enticing, a gorgeously complex creature that won’t let you walk away. At times it frustrates you, even infuriates you, yet you still want more. This is Italy – ITALIA! After a professional life in education, I now live as a Brexit refugee in the stunningly beautiful Green Heart of Italy - Umbria.