Owning a Ukrainian
A friend of mine recently overheard two women in Waitrose each talking about "my Ukrainian".
Yes, apparently middle class English people shopping in Waitrose own a Ukrainian now.
Meaning the "refugee" they took in back in the spring.
(Remember that narrative? Millions of people allegedly fleeing Putins's alleged terror campaign that never actually materialized)
Anyhow, the two women in Waitrose were exchanging chat about what 'their' respective Ukrainian would do.
The first woman said her Ukrainian was surprisingly good at ironing, and always willing to walk the dog and never complained.
The second woman said her Ukrainian had learned English cooking and took care of the kids and never asked for a day off
So, it turns out this influx of newly stateless individuals was a good thing, because they're very good at housework, and happy to do it for you in return for being allowed to live in your spare room with their entire worldly possessions stuffed in the one drawer you allotted them.
Isn't that nice.
Lovely genteel middle class English slavery is still thriving among the boarded up shop fronts, exponentially rising fuel bills and emptying supermarket shelves.