On Saturday night, a blonde woman was sitting in a darkened kitchen, forced to work by candle light.
In front of her was a huge bucket of muddy windfall apples.
She had been asked to peel, core and slice them.
She was many miles from her home, and she was sniffling.
So where was this sad scene?
I am sorry to say, it happened in our kitchen.
Charlotte was visiting from Glasgow – she was in the South East to give a talk on Martin Luther.
At our house, that Saturday, all the lights went out. Peering through the window at the entire street in darkness, we deduced a power cut.
We lit the candles in the warm kitchen and began to cut up the cooking apples which Chris and Christine had so generously given us.
Charlotte came and joined us.
Unfortunately, the eighties music we were playing gave her a head-ache.
Plus I had forgotten she was allergic to raw apples.
And there were an awful lot of apples.
All I can say, Charlotte, is sorry.
But on the bright side, when you next campaign or speak on social justice you will have extra knowledge of how modern slavery can exist even in seemingly respectable homes.