It was the middle of summer and just like any other day driving down a main road in London.

People trying to overtake at breakneck speed, beeping if someone takes more than 10 seconds to start at a green light, rolling down their windows and swearing at the slightest mistake.

Except that this time, when a man in a white van released a string of unsavoury four-letter words at me, there was something white and red fluttering from the van’s roof above him.

A St George’s flag.

And that flag meant the whole interaction suddenly felt less like road rage, and more like a racist attack.

You may think this sounds a little like paranoia – or perhaps that I’m reading too much into an everyday driving-related run-in.

But I have good reason to feel worried.

Thanks to the wave of far right, natio

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