It was quarter past six in the evening and the siren had just sounded for lunch: a loud noise pumped through loudspeakers into every corner of the cold and drab warehouse.

While I stood in the queue, hands in pockets, waiting to get out, a well-built security guard made a signal for me to put my arms in the air. “Move forward, mate, I haven’t got all afternoon,” he said in a broad West Midlands accent.

There was a commotion at the front of the line: a quarrel had erupted between a security guard and a young Romanian man over the presence of a mobile phone.

Security guard: “You know you’re not supposed to bring those in here. You were told that on your first