There’s a poem by Tom Paulin known as An Ulster Unionist Walks the Streets of London, through which the narrator articulates the shock of not-belonging he feels as he wanders misplaced by the British capital “like a half-foreigner among the many London-Irish”. His British id has been shaken to the core by the sudden realisation that, amid the multiplicity of ethnic identities that make up town’s multicultural combine, he’s categorised as Irish as quickly as he opens his mouth.

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The Red Tea Detox

I used to be reminded…

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