The 23rd of June 2016 was a dark day for my husband and me. We tried to joke about the referendum, as neither of us actually believed the outcome would be in favour of Brexit. We discussed what country to flee to in the event that it all went disastrously wrong, and settled on Canada. I ranted about how unfair it was that I didn’t get a vote, as a resident for 13 years and a taxpayer for 7 (after 6 years of higher education).
When friends tell me: “You’re not English, just accept it”
I used to be English. It was my identity and I had the right to it. It didn’t have to be more complicated than that…
