Our Mexican Problem.

I bought a copy of The Big Issue from a street vendor today. I felt sorry for her after I saw some weasly looking man approach her with the apparent intent to make a purchase, but change his mind and declare them to be too expensive.

She was Romanian, which, by an odd coincidence, is also where some of the infamous horse meat came from. I doubt very much that she was in any way connected with it, but I’m just as sure that there are people who would hold her responsible by default. The expansion of the EU a few years ago gave us Brits a convenient scapegoat for most ills. If in doubt, blame the East Europeans. It used to be the Croatians, now it’s the Romanians. It’s probably fortunate that most of those inclined to jump to such generic judgements are too ignorant to know that Transylvania is in Romania, otherwise I expect there would be a few stakes getting sharpened. Maybe there are times when a lack of education – either geographical or literary – isn’t such a bad thing.