I’m writing this in France, where I’m staying with my brother and his family. He met his French wife Julie while they were studying in Glasgow.
Figures last week have shown that it turns out foreign students are not sticking around in the UK as much as our prime minister had said. Just like them, Julie didn’t overstay in our green and pleasant land; on the contrary, when she returned to France, she took one of ours with her. Instead of lying about people like my sister-in-law, Theresa May should have given her a sticker that said: “I came to the UK and improved the net migration figures.”
My brother moans about how long his French citizenship paperwork is taking, and I lament that he now needs to bother to do this. He’s lived in France for 13 years and raised two kids who speak perfect English with a Birmingham accent. He won’t ever come home, but stresses that he will always be British and a proud Brummie.
I wonder why so many people felt that their Britishness was so fragile. Theresa May felt so fragile about hers that she fiddled the books to make it seem like she loved our country. I’m certain that my migrant Franglais family love it and its people much more.
