Tuesday, 11 September 2012

The Only Indian In Shropshire

Since the beginning of this blog people have been asking whether they can get a mention, or when I have mentioned other people the question as to why they weren't mentioned arises. The answer to this question is: I am a selfish being. Being your classic middle child and I am certainly the most independent but also the biggest attention seeker. I am by no means in denial about it, I fully accept it. It is necessary in my family to speak up or stay silent and despite avoiding confrontation in nearly every other scenario in life, at home its a different story - it is unlikely that there will be an argument whereby I don't have the last word. BBB has taught me well, so much so he now loses (or just gives up on my hopeless advocacy that turns into a less articulate structure... and more slamming of doors and under-the-breath swearing).

Having said that I have decided to share this post with the wonderful Miss Fiona Sedgley - feel very, very privilged. I share almost everything even my prized MAC lipsticks and although I may fall into the 'Joey doesn't share food' category when it comes to certain food types (mainly chips, chocolate and cake), blogs I can handle. So here it is.

This weekend I ventured into Shropshire for Miss Sedgley's 21st birthday bash. All I knew was that Fi lived the countryside and on a working farm. Considering I live on an A-road, I realised this would be a little different to what I was used to. However I didn't consider that I would be the only Indian in an entire county. Two hours of holding up my tomtom because I broke holder in my drive before I even set off I found myself driving at a steady 20mph around these tiny country lanes, quite frankly thinking: "where the fuck am I?" With now quite a hefty stream of traffic behind me who obviously were used to bombing it down the roads, panic set in and by sheer luck I stumbled across the farm. As I pulled into the drive I jokingly said to Fi, 'Hey look there is another Indian in Shropshire!' Looking both perplexed and mildly disgusted she was bemused as to how another Indian had landed in white-country. All was cleared up when I pointed out that with her 4-5 layers of tan she was actually darker than me....was going to be a looonnnnggg weekend of clearly not enough casual racism.

I was like a fish out of water initially, all the farmer chat had me stumped so as I put on my best posh accent I attempted to blend in. Fat and Indian doesn't bode so well for blending into middle class farmers but as expected I was welcomed with open arms by the entire family and the weekend was incredible from start to finish.

Now getting down to the food business. Like most aspects of my life and definitely my diet it started off really went and ended in a hideous disaster. Friday I was a good little egg - no complaints. I had even gymed in the morning so that I could travel sans guilt. Saturday morning also good, I needed sustenance to keep up with the list of party prepping. Lunch was just as good fresh scrambled eggs and a piece of bread - I was being gold star worthy. And all good things must come an end. I blame Fi. Normally I'm a vodka kinda girl, I don't really drink wine but if its there...who's going to say no?! Certainly not me. (I am without a shadow of a doubt my father's daughter). So the party kicked off and everyone look amazing,   and I even felt good having lost some weight my dress fit perfectly. In an attempt to be a better girl I decided on heels. These gorgeous wedges from Reiss, not gonna lie they aren't particularly high - but it was like an elephant in stilettos. The only way to break through the pain barrier....Champers, and lots of it. An hour later I was in flats and the Champagne waitresses knew me by first name. After heading into the marquee I felt like I was in Harry Potter, every time I looked at my wine glass it was full again - some secret little wizard was constantly topping up my glass, who was I to refuse?! So I kept drinking it. The chicken curry may have come and gone but the wine was certainly a permanent fixture on the table...as was the chocolate m&m covered tree centre pieces - you know where this is headed.

Whilst everyone else delicately managed to pick a couple of m&ms off the sweetie tree, I had managed to rather skilfully lift the entire slab of chocolate which held the m&ms in place, off the polystyrene tree without dropping a single sweet. Genius. Now I had essenitally an m&m stuffed chocolate slab in front of me, the 'Joey doesn't share food' scenario may have occurred, may have. Oh it gets worse. Around 3am whilst Fi was entertaining one of the DJs under the dining room table, I entertained the other DJ....by having a cake icing eating contest. Clearly my body was saturated with sugar from the sweet tree and the 3 bottles of wine, because as soon as tried to eat the icing I had to spit it all out into my hand rather unattractively . No idea why I don't have a boyfriend. No idea.

The next day I woke up still smashed, and upon looking in the mirror I noticed my face had actually swelled over night because I drank so much wine. The only saving grace to this story is that enduring the hungover, hot drive home when I stopped at the service station I chose a Waitrose wrap and fruit over the McDs that was definitely calling to me. Thank you Fi for an amazing weekend and for allowing me to royally screw up my hard work. Same again next weekend? Probably.

Fatty BB xxx

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