Up and out by 0530 today. Warm breeze, bright skies and no shops open at all bar one.

One little oasis of welcome; grab your milk for that first cuppa before you head to work, or get a magazine for the train journey. A protein drink, or a pre-packed sandwich, cigarettes and sweets, lighters and sugar filled chocolate bars. Limited selections yes, but often of a kind you only get in a little newsagents and often with Special Offers in gaily coloured packages at Christmas.

The sole open shop, 365 days a year, mostly run by first or second generation immigrants and kept tidy, well stocked and clean.

The place we go when we know nothing else will be open, the person behind the counter that usually remembers who we are, even if they haven’t seen us for a long time or whose face lights up with a smile even if we see them every day.

This country is built on immigration. Layer upon layer of it.

I cherish it, I welcome it and I pity the people so bitter and self deluded that they cannot see the good in it or the necessity of it.

“I come from a hidden world: I am the daughter of shopkeepers… My childhood story is about more than just transactions involving pints of milk and packets of cigarettes; it’s integral to the story of Britain itself.” – Babita Sharma, The Corner Shop