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They say home is where the heart is I say we have many Each, a place we left a piece of our heart … A house A person A time A song that dreams us back A crinkled black and white photo in the bottom of a dusty box

My father has only said these words to me once in my lifetime. I was in my late thirties, and I’d just stepped off stage after singing a song with his band at a jazz festival – having downed a whole glass of red wine (come on, those little festival plastic glasses don’t hold much) …