Born the daughter of a viscount, who was forced to abdicate due to political tensions and a threat of death by pearl onions, I was left in the care of a hippie radical non-activist who thought Jesus spoke to him in the window of a synagogue in Monkland (turns out it was all the drugs), and the first female drill sergeant in all of the Commonwealth of Montreal, who was a certified card-carrying Fake Phony Redhead. They raised me on a combination of Rogers and Hammerstein, children's books with cats in them, knitted trinkets, and bright colours, but never cheese. Now, I'm in film studies, living on an island by the sea with three cats and endless DVDs.
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