The other night my eldest son, a final-year medical student, called me over to his computer to show me the application forms for his next stage of training.
While he deliberated over choices of hospitals, my mind began to drift. I couldn’t stop thinking about my late grandfather.
A Ukrainian immigrant, he had arrived in Britain as a teenager at the start of the 20th century, fleeing vicious pogroms in Eastern Europe, to start a new life in a country whose language he couldn’t even speak.
Any party that cultivates the Islamist vote will share Labour’s fate, and yes it can and will happen here. This is the “diversity” payback we’ve all been told is so wonderful.