The oil man topped our tank and said his next drop was to the Ukrainian refugees in the next village who were getting their tank topped for free.
I could hear him and the builder boyfriend chatting about this for some time and then the BB came back into the kitchen and put the pink of the invoice into my hand. I looked down to see that I was being charged just over €1,000 for a tank of oil.
I don’t want to feel grateful to the EU. It might make me hate it less
The electricity bill for the winter pinged into my email barely a few hours later – nearly €700.
‘We’re migrants,’ I told the BB. ‘I wonder if I should ring to place the order from an area of the house where there’s bad phone reception. If I say I’m from the UK, they might mishear and think I’m saying I’m from the Ukraine.
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