Well, it certainly doesn't seem as if any of our blessed politicians are capable of finding them. Including the Immigration Minister. After he decided to lecture us all about cheap labour. And by the way, yes. Since you ask. I did employ a quote unquote British nanny. Once. And you don't want to know what I thought about her.
Kate Middleton's got a Spanish girl, hasn't she? Samantha Cameron's got a lovely Nepalese. I always had Aussies myself. But never mind that — I have something to tell you.
She was called Sharon. Believe it or not.
Who?
The nanny. My English nanny. She whined about PMT and period pains the entire nine months she worked for us. Do English girls have more periods than other girls? They do not. So what was that about? And I have never seen such a consumption of biscuits! Add that to the nanny tax, paid holidays, sick leave. Plus I just had this feeling she was going to get pregnant any minute. She didn't. Even so.
Well, that's lucky.
And yet there's this sort of moral obligation to employ Brits. This sort of unspoken threat that if your cleaner has a foreign accent and isn't whining about period pains she's probably illegal. And the authorities are getting so tough now . . .
They can get as tough as they like, Pippa! I've been trying to say . . .
What, darling? What are you trying to say? Do spit it out.
After the Damascus moment — I just couldn't stand it any more. School fees, bankers' bonuses, battery chickens, celebrity dance-offs, mansion taxes, Spanish nannies . . .
Sweetie, are you all right?
We've bought a super new tent from Sports Direct and Gerald and me and the kids are moving to Nepal on Saturday, to be nomads.
I say!
That's right.
Well . . . Gosh . . . I was going to ask if you were up for tennis doubles on Sunday. But I suppose you won't be around?
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