As a child, I used to go on holiday to communism. My father is of Polish descent – hence  my ridiculous surname – but grew up somewhat detached from his Polish roots. My grandfather, who had been an officer in the Polish Free Forces, never returned to Poland after the war. My father wasn’t taught to speak Polish and we didn’t celebrate Polish holidays. In the late seventies, however, my half-Polish father met my properly Polish stepmother on a business trip to Warsaw. He was salesman for a global chemical company. She worked for Orbis, the state run tourist company who were hosting them. It was love at first sight. Within months, she was on a plane to the UK and they were married, despite my grandmother’s objections that my stepmother was freedom grasping whore who was only after a passport.