When I was a kid, we would sometimes play a word game called Deserted Island. You’d imagine taking different things with you, yet would soon realize not all were allowed. Sometimes you could only take things that were square and purple, the others only those that were round and green. The island would always be there; the rules would never stay the same.

This audio piece recalls three times of crossing the border to the UK – the paradise island to so many migrants from Eastern Europe – while bringing illegal cigarettes, a handwritten note alongside accumulated labour and an oversized book that’s coloured red. It looks at my body, in motion, making its way from the periphery of the former empire into the heart of another one far from home.