‘Are you homesick?’ she asks, every time I call.
‘No, I’m not,’ I say, not homesick at all.
This here is my home since our baby was small
Her life measured in inches on my bright kitchen wall.
‘There’s really not much to miss,’ I say
Apart from you, Ma, who live so far away.
We have the telephone though, we talk everyday
And it’s here in Glasgow I choose to stay.
Where folk are friendly and full of cheer
Needing fish ‘n chips with lots of beer.
The only thing I don’t like here
Is the dratted rain all ‘round the year.
‘Are you homesick?’ they ask if I’m deep in thought.
‘I’m not homesick,’ I reply, truly I’m not.
This here is my home, this house we bought
In the land we love, where we’ve cast our lot
With the Lochs, the Ochs, the Bonnie Lasses,
The Glens, the Hens, the Irn Bru glasses.
The football matches with heaving masses,
The Christmas presents with concert passes.
People in queues always up for a chat.
In buses and trains, we chew the fat
About the weather, the world, the neighbour’s cat,
And strangers become friends, just like that.
Am I homesick? I ask myself, once I’m alone with me
When winter evenings don’t know what-o’clock to be.
I’m not sure, I whisper, but I do yearn to see
Bougainvillaea bushes and a ripe mango tree.
Wall-to-wall sunshine ten months around
Then smell the monsoon as it thunders down
On parched earth, all cracked and brown.
But these longings, I quickly drown
As I think of the love, I have in my heart
For my forever-home, where I work on my art.
My two worlds may be oceans apart
But I’m never homesick, as I’ve said from the start.