Outsiders?

I promised to speak no more of my recent visit to Cornwall but I do have a final observation: the absence of non-white faces. It reminded me that the peninsula is one of the last bastions of the ancient, native Britons who were forced to retreat to the western fringes of their Isles by waves of immigrants coming over from the continent.

Immigrants arriving in waves tend to settle in clusters for economic and cultural support. Subsequent dispersal into the hinterland can take many generations - hence my observation. But I now have firm evidence that those Anglo-Saxon continentals have made it at last into Cornwall. I interacted with them, incomers, people who have settled there and now own businesses catering for the tourists. I admit that I found this rather disappointing, since I do still cling to the vain expectation that places such as these are unique and unchanging. To be sold "real Cornish dairy ice cream" by someone whose heritage is more Essex than Celtic seems somehow fraudulent.

Back at home in the city, however, I am accustomed to the presence of recent immigrants and even to their domination of certain spheres of economic activity despite the disadvantage of their ‘outsider’ status. One such sphere, the car-valeting business, is of particular relevance to me. My vehicle is not a car but a high-top campervan and, because of this, I also have outsider status. My van and I are often on the wrong side of prevailing conventions; toll roads do not distinguish between commercial and domestic vans and charge us higher rates (unfairly); unexpected height restrictions at the entrance to car parks necessitate awkward reversing manoeuvres in narrow approaches; car wash machines are not tall enough for us to pass through and valeting tariffs, while differentiating between cars and 4x4s, don't acknowledge our special needs at all.

This last problem, however, has been resolved by the establishment of a Somali-owned car-valeting business down the road. The big red and yellow price lists put up by the previous, Romanian owners are still on the wall but, since there is no listed tariff for campervans, I have been obliged to engage verbally with the staff. The result is a personal relationship built on old-fashioned haggling. And I can assure you that, despite the tough reputation for bargaining they have gained in the pirating business, when it comes to a car wash where they don’t have the upper hand they are a pushover.

Nevertheless the best bargains are to be had during slack periods, so it's always good practice to do a ‘drive-by’ before committing to a visit - which is how I got them to agree to an especially small sum on the last transaction. When I came to pay up, however, I realised I had left my wallet at home. My initial reaction was panic. Were their cheerful smiles merely a mask for their ruthless disposition after all? Would they turn nasty, lock me in the office, put my van under armed guard and call my relatives with a ransom demand? I searched the van for something of value to offer, found a couple of bottles of wine stashed in the provisions cupboard and offered them as surety for my return with the cash.

They refused them not, as you might think, on the grounds of disputed value, but because - and they pointed to one of their number - they might be consumed.

"But you're Muslims" I said

“Yeah, but he will drink them. He's not a real brother," they replied "Just pay us when you come back next time".

I was off the hook - yet at the same time hooked. How could I give my future custom to another outfit? Business, as they say, is all about people.

   

Customer waiting area.