Floyd Westerman wrote a powerful song called Quiet Desperation. I note that many see this as a cry of the indigenous Americans or whatever you call them these days.

I sing that song as a result of seeing people on the streets, carrier bag handlers, Wetherspoons regulars and Sally Army guests.

A cry to belong is not the exclusive right of heritage. I drive past an immigration removal centre attached to a local prison and find myself wondering if I could ever comprehend what must be going through the heads of many of those incarcerated there.