I’ve been thinking about the word displacement a lot, and the Ukrainians who have been displaced.
The images of mostly women and children walking in their brightly coloured winter gear on highways, along train platforms, crowded at borders, holding sad-looking toys and sucking dummies. They will soon reach the UK in their hundreds of thousands, we’re told, except refugee charities report that visa applications are still woefully fraught with red tape. Not that my under-the-stairs Harry Potter cupboard would count as a spare room anyway.
