The Immigrant's Story

Recently I had a chat with a man who has been an immigrant not once but twice. Barry (not real name) comes from India (not real country). He was quite an athlete in his youth so decided to join the French Foreign Legion (as you do). In his time he got sent to Lebanon, Chad, Zaire and half a hundred other places. And eventually he left the Foreign Legion and (as he was perfectly entitled to) settled down in France.

France was very nice. One of the nice things Barry found was what would happen on those occasions when he got absolutely smashed and attempted to drive home. On being stopped by the police he would hand over his ID card. They would tap the number into the computer, discover that he was an ex-legionnaire and let him off. Who says that ID cards are a bad thing?

But as all Englishmen know the big problem with France is they speak French. On a trip back to India to see the extended family, he found that he and his family couldn't talk to anyone. Everyone else spoke English. The writing was on the wall.

He left the family in France and moved to England to look for work. He found two jobs: one for the day and one for the night. He slept on the night job. Usually it didn't matter because there wasn't much to do. He also discovered a rather interesting sideline. Working in a hotel, he met a lot of guests who had been fleeced by the cab ride from the airport. When they came to him to book a cab he would ask if they would like to use a cheaper mini-cab. Most of them, of course, did. Then he would phone up some friendly mini-cab drivers and ask them if they wanted the work. Most of them, too, did. And as the mini-cab drivers arrived at the hotel they would each and everyone of them press a £20 pound note into his hand - a sort of finder's fee if you will.

With his two jobs and third, tax-free sideline and with the fact that he hardly had any time to spend the money, Barry soon found that he was starting to make a tidy sum. He decided to buy a house and move the family to England. So, he went along to the bank and asked for a mortgage. The bank liked Barry. He had a steady income and had saved well. He got the mortgage.

Five years later and Barry has slowed down a bit and got a normal job. His house in London has appreciated massively and he has decided to realise his gain. So, he's going to move up North. Well, not very far north but far enough to be out of the range of London house prices. He reckons he can buy a place outright and then work part time. After all, he is almost 50 and he would like to spend more time with the kids.