Cycling near Loughborough past Quorn knowing Zouch was near, a sort of air breathing pleasure machine enjoying exotic names of narrowboats like Yaffel, the venacular name of a Kingfisher. In the distance is the Holy Hindu River Stour. The Colonial Buidings tented roofs in stone and sculptures of Chinese Carp and Indian Elephants. Petrified Animals. Then an Ostrich Jumps on to the road ahead. A Lama herd in the field with Parakeets in the sky. Was this Mid Summer Madness? William Morris covertly based wallpaper on Islamic Art. Suddenly everyone is wearing a turban. Only Quadring Eaudyke sounds more foreign.
The uncomfortable English are strangers in their own towns yet all of their backround is foreign. In Dunkirk, Nottingham the name is French, the corner shop is Yemenese, the Supermarket is Israeli, the cars are German, the hairdresser is Kurdish, the mayor is Arab, the University is Chinese, the fruitshop is Jamaican, the Delicattessen is Afgan, the car wash is Moldavian, the girl in the chip shop is Polish, and the taxi drivers are of course from Kashmir.
When the ladies of Dunkirk Nottingham arrived from English farmland to live in the city they never left: There was nowhere to go back to. The countryside started at the bottom of the garden. The fields turned to terraced streets when Boots the Chemist arrived in Nottingham. Now the immigrants are from Gravities Rainbow. Grace was born in Oxford, lived in Hove and after the war never left Dunkirk.