It is bizarre that some people think immigrants are a threat to something called Christian Britain (whatever that is)
Just behind the trendy restaurants and tattoo parlours of Londons Exmouth Market lies the architecturally undistinguished presence of Taylor House, home to a number of Londons many immigration and asylum courts. As in an airport departure lounge, you enter via a metal detector and body scan and sit in serried ranks on cheap fixed chairs like motorway service stations used to have.
Anxiety is locked on the faces of those waiting for judgment. Three distinguished-looking gentlemen sit upright, looking straight ahead, each sporting a chestful of medals. I cannot tell the expression of the woman in the niqab, but her two small boys have brown eyes that dart around the room trying to accustom themselves to this intimidating world of faceless bureaucracy. A blind, Turkish-looking man is helped into court by his nephew. Amid the general hubbub, lawyers back into the corners of the room to create makeshift private spaces for a final consultation with their clients. The blue carpet is stained and filthy.
