In the “global cities”, someone has to foam the latte, and maintain the Tube tunnels, and clean the hospitals – and there are no Londoners or Parisians left. And so, in a real-estate market where (as Le Monde joked) the cupboard under the stairs Harry Potter’s uncle locked him in is now a seven-figure “studio apartment”, the great remorseless migrant tide crams ever more densely and perilously into the space that is left. And official London turns a blind eye – and moneyed London, media London, banking London is barely even aware of the favelas and shanties arising in their midst. That mattress blocking the emergency exit? Next time round there’ll be children sleeping on it.
