Inspired by the Guardian’s interactive article What Does Being British Mean to You? I pondered my own position.

Both my parents’ families are from the same little cluster of villages in Gujarat, India. My parents were among those who emigrated to England in the sixties and seventies. They met through the Gujarati community in England and married. I was born in England and my upbringing and education here has shaped the person I am today far more than my family’s background, in spite of them holding on very strongly on to their culture. I don’t feel Indian; I feel British. My husband is English, we don’t incorporate any Indian traditions into our lives and we work in his parents’ very traditional pub, that most British of institutions. To me, being British means promoting freedom and tolerance.

I’ve never been a victim of overt racism but I feel there is room for improvement. People need to be educated. For example, a few months ago I was talking to an English woman in her fifties. She used, harmlessly she believed, the word ‘Paki’ as a synonym for ‘Indian’. Leaving out the geographical error entirely, I tried to explain to her that she shouldn’t use the word ‘Paki’ because it was derogatory but she clearly didn’t know what derogatory meant. At that point I cut my losses and gave up.

I don’t care what they say on Woman’s Hour, I’m NOT going to be wearing pastels.

I’ve started my Christmas shopping over the last few days. I won’t go to Merry Hell unless it’s absolutely necessary so I’ve been doing it online. The first delivery was completed today after much hassle. It put me in mind of this (from last year’s Viz annual):

Apparently I gave my passengers a bit of a fright when I parked the car at the Thompson wedding venue because I drove so close to the car next to me. I hold my hands up; I cannot park (and never could even in a much smaller car).

However, the very next day I witnessed a much worse example of bad parking. Our car was parked at a service station on the way home. I stayed in the car while Mark used the facilities. I saw a woman approach the spaces alongside in a Micra and simply drive into the concrete barrier in front. After the impact she gingerly reversed six inches then left the car to go into the service station without even inspecting the front of the car. In spite of my still raging hangover I had a good private laugh to myself in the dark.

But the best (or should I say worst?) bad parking incident was last April when a man came to the pub to repair the quiz machine. I was in the bungalow making myself a sandwich and all of a sudden I heard an almighty crash. Alarmed, I rushed outdoors. The pub car park was completely empty as it was before opening and ok he was in a large van but to this day neither he or we can fathom how he managed to reverse into the fence between the bungalow and the pub car park. And with such force that it was knocked over. These photos (I took as part of a set for the insurance company) still make me giggle:

Fingers crossed that I will learn from what I have witnessed!