I've been chopping more sticks today and musing on a chance meeting yesterday: 
I stepped out into the road to leave space on the pavement for some people getting out of a car and as I stepped back onto the pavement beyond the car I heard my name. It was A, a Palestinian refugee whose family I helped over 15 years ago when they were having to deal with learning English, sorting out all the paperwork for settling in the UK, enrolling the children in school, looking for work, and trying to get the driving licences needed for work. A was pregnant through all of this and cannily worked out that under the Home Office immigration rules at that time (they change every year or so and are monstrously difficult to keep track of) her baby would not be entitled to British citizenship if it was born in Oxford, but would be if it was born in Northern Ireland. So at the relevant time she headed off to Belfast. (Incidentally, it was still possible to do the driving theory test in Arabic in Northern Ireland for quite a while after that option had been withdrawn in England.) I asked after the family. They are well settled. The elder children are through or at university and the Belfast-born youngest is working for GCSEs. 

I was honoured that she recognised me and it was a treat to catch up with her.

It occurred to me today that her youngest now has more European rights and privileges than I do.