Summary
IHAVE a confession to make. I am a member of the domestic employer class -- shock horror -- and my cleaner is Chinese. She has been with me for seven years and not once have I asked to see her passport. Over the years she has imparted fascinating tidbits about her life in very broken English. How she arrived here as a prospective bride for a noodle factory owner; how she didn't fancy him and took to her bed crying every day for three months; how she worked in his factory before he miraculously released her from her bondage. She went off to work in a restaurant where she met her future husband.
It is an extraordinary tale straight out of a Victorian novel and a scenario presumably replicated all over London. I have never asked if she was an illegal immigrant. Nor would I dream of doing so. It is the height of bad manners and just not British, old boy. She is now married to a British subject and has several children.See the full content of this document
Extract
I'm Guilty of Not Grilling My Cleaner
I have a smidgen of sympathy for Baroness Scotland, not for being part of the government...
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