I realised last Christmas that the pandemic has changed what it means to be an immigrant

We are three generations of women living in three different countries and separated by two stretches of sea, and I had not given it a lot of thought until 2020, writes Marie Le Conte

Will emigration feel as seamless after the pandemic as it did beforehand? (Simon Calder)

It has taken me 20 minutes to begin writing this column. I usually get started straight away, but, as it turns out, it is hard to write if your mother is in the same room and asks you a mundane question every other minute. Would I like another coffee? No, thank you. Do I have any Moroccan cumin left at home, and if not, would I like to take some with me? Actually, yes I would – and so on.

If it sounds like I’m complaining, rest assured that I am not; I would usually be annoyed by the complete and utter lack of privacy that comes with spending Christmas at home, but this year is different. This year’s Christmas is remarkable, because it feels, and is, normal. I flew from London to France on 23 December, and by 29 December, I will be desperate to jump on a flight back.

It is the Christmas I had every year for 10 years as an emigrant, until last year when I did not. On 23 December 2020, I was in London, and on 29 December, I was in London, and for those days in between, I had all the privacy anyone could ever possibly want. It was odd and sad.