It’s almost eleven o’clock on Sunday morning. In my church going days this was the time for the infamous Sunday mass ritual complete with sermon, parade and chit chat on the church parvis just before heading off to Sunday lunch. For a long time through my childhood and adolescence...

“Go back to your country”, he typed, he thought, he yelled, he spat, he fumed. “They should go back to their country”, he reasoned with friends, he told his politician, he reckoned with the warden, he argued on the promenade. “They’re useless good for...