Not all refugees are sent, many are seeking safety from their own lands. Safety from situations where the western authorities have agitated a situation in their land or just fleeing from a volatile situation (created by authorities in their own land) and wanting to be free and safe from violence and terror. A basic human instinct.

The ‘political refugees’ that you mention (the ones that were invited with an open invitation) would never choose to live in an area such as Henley on Thames (even if they could afford to). Political refugees come with the view to exploit the system and also recruit people to their cause. The places to exploit people are the more deprived parts of Britain because people in those areas feel disenfranchised from political process and feel marginalised. These people are ripe for being politicised (radicalised) to a different cause…

Just teasing a bit, my friend – because if we are somehow still reminded of ‘dangerous’ refugees in Cherie’s innocuous travel photos, it means terrorism and fear have already won, as well as the coterrorists – the sort of politicians and press who help terrorists along by using our fears about terrorism for viewership and votes for themselves and their own selfish political gain.

What do you think about us not helping either form of terrorist out too much and step away from the political Kool-Aid, while here, and just enjoy the scenery? That’s why I visit Cherie’s, anyway – a reprieve from all of the above

However, Cherie, do you think they would accept American refugees at Henley on the Thames? Because I’d go there this instant – beautiful

I see the winding water make
A short and then a shorter lake
As here stand I,
And house-boat high,
Survey the Upper Thames.
By sun the mud is amber-dyed
In ripples slow and fat and wide,
That flap against the house-boat side
And flop away in gems.

In mud and elder-scented shade
A reach away the breach is made
By dive and shout
That circles out
To Henley tower and town;
And “Boats for Hire” the rafters ring,
And pink on white the roses cling,
And red the bright geraniums swing
In baskets dangling down.

When shall I see the Thames again?
The prow-promoted gems again,
As beefy ATS
Without their hats
Come shooting through the bridge?
And “cheerio” and “cheeri-bye”
Across the waste of waters die
And low the mists of evening lie
And lightly skims the midge.

Cheeri-bye
Bernard