I’m An Immigrant

You know, I get just a little tired of the likes of Trump and UKIP going on about immigrants – I’m an immigrant; a Brit living his life in Spain.

Spain doesn’t owe me anything; I owe Spain everything. I don’t go around saying that they should be grateful for my pounds or euros, because over the last 35 years virtually every penny, cent, shekel, I have earnt has been from my Spanish hosts.

I didn’t have to cross the Channel and the Bay of Biscay in a small open boat to get here; I landed at Málaga Airport and simply walked through passport control – and I came here before Spain joined the EU.

I don’t have to sell counterfeit goods or pirate DVD’s, for a pittance, getting totally ignored – or disdainful looks, at best – from tables full of tourists. And, yes, there is always the sunburnt idiot in socks and sandals haggling for the amusement of his companions without the slightest intention of buying anything – tyre kickers with a superiority complex.

The irony is that some of these young Africans hawking these illicit goods have higher educational achievements than their prospective customers, but are left with no other way of earning money.

Immigrants are the USA, Mr Trump; Ask the Native North Americans. Britain for the British, Mr Next-UKIP-Leader? Queen Victoria and Her Prime Ministers had other ideas about people keeping within their own borders.

I’m an immigrant and proud of it.


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