My passport is a surprisingly emotional and sentimental document to me. It is an irrefutable and official declaration of my roots, my family and some kind of deeper connection to my ancestors. In many ways I am so British that its laughable to call myself Irish – no person who has lived in Ireland all their life would hear me speak and think ‘there’s a fellow countrywoman over there’. So I feel embarrassed sometimes, if an Irish person asks about my nationality. I feel like a disloyal con artist. But on the occasion my British friends are surprised when I produce an Irish passport, or assume that I only got it since Brexit, I am proud to tell them that I’ve always considered my Irish heritage a core part of who I am, and I’ve always had this passport.

I grew up making trips over to Dublin to see my grandparents, aunt and uncle and cousins. Trips to Wicklow or walks in Howth are treasured, warm memories to me. I am a folk musician, and often wonder where I should look for tunes that speak of who I am, or where I’m from. I didn’t grow up playing the accordion in pubs in Dublin – though I wish I did! I didn’t really engage with traditional English folk music until my thirties. So I try to make my own sound and feel that being between the islands is perfectly good, and perfectly me, and not to overthink it all.