They come here for a better life, with their exotic languages and distinctive customs.
The noise is unbearable. Quiet discussions about vegan sausage rolls, knitting all through the night, putting the kettle on.
And their dogs, Jeez, tiny things with their invisible shits and silent barking and nosing around clean carpets all day.
They look different too. Ironic moustaches, beards they’re too young for, hanging around street corners in big shapeless coats and pointy woolly hats waiting to nick slates off the roof for dinner plates.
Or foraging for food in the back courts, tearing open bin bags. Please, leave our truffles alone.
Crowds of them picked up near the supermarket every morning and driven to work in fruit farms, meat processing factories and distribution warehouses in Midlothian, Inverclyde and North Lanarkshire.
I try to curate my life too. The right, sustainably sourced brand of cockroach (German), the proper levels of dust in the flat, and if the music upstairs doesn’t kick off at midnight and last until 4am then I will not be happy.
I guess I just like nice things.