I didn't order an Eton Mess?

The one place where the air is thick with toffee syrup, ground coffee and middle class dribble. Costa. I'm with my sister and as usual we look around for two spaces that aren't next to a family, a couple or a mute old man. We join the queue made up of grey haired women, men in suits and now us. As we stand looking like two specs of cocoa in a glass of warm milk my eyes are struggling to read the price list. Yes, I keep forgetting to wear my bleeding contacts. My mind was set on a pot of tea and a lemon muffin. (I definitely recommend it!) So, we stand and sigh as we wait. Then, two boys with silver spoons stuck up their backside join the queue. I didn't think nothing of it until they began to elbow my back as they laughed about their amusing cocaine incident at their last party. See, this is why being short isn't fun. People are often mislead about my height, thinking I'll smile at the idea of being pushed a little and fucking elbowed for that matter. 

I stand containing my anger and finally I order the pot of tea and two lemon muffins. The boys continue to talk so loudly, I don't understand how they were so casual about it but to be fair they were surrounded by their usual environment; the proud middle classes. As the barrister set up my tray, these buffoons thought it was wise to put their stinking sandwiches, innocent smoothies 'what-have-you' in front of my tray. Now look, like I said, I am short. I can't reach the tray to save my life. 

"Would you please excuse me, I can't get to my tray"

"hahahahahahahah oh shit"

"Did I say something that upset you?"

"hahahahahahaha" the two Tesco value blocks of butter were in hysterics.

Spraying their spit. 

"well?"

Both gave a look of *wtf* and *who does this thing think she is?*

Fuming, but nevertheless we sat down next to this Portuguese man and my sister sat opposite me. I take a look around. No one's brown. Does this effect me? Yeah, because I was put in a situation where I fought the stink of internalized racism. Being laughed at just because a brown girl spoke back. No one understood that one very moment of being undermined. Do you think the same would have happened if I was white? No it wouldn't have. What got to my tits the most was eavesdropping their conversation as they rejoiced their mums at the table behind us.

"ahahahaha, and she was like..."EXCUSE ME" who does she think she is?"

"I know, all she had to do was lift the tray over our food, so stupid"

"Why would you even say that to us?"

"hahahahaha, oh just leave it hahaha" one of the mums concluded.

Good thinking bitch. 

You may question why I was passive to the situation itself but to be honest my mind was dealing with more important shit at the time. Besides, my sister kept me sane by grabbing my hand and warning me not to turn around. But can you fucking blame me? People laughing at my expense and for what? 

It's true. I'm sat in an Italian established coffee shop which gave birth in 1971, London. I wouldn't know how a non-white person would feel in that time and place. Ah yes, time and place. Maybe these factors are to blame for why the shop wasn't full of non-white people. This particular coffee shop was on top of a book shop. Oh yes!! that explains it (!). The uneducated, problem causing, terrorist talking non-whites aren't found in places like these you see (!). They prefer to sit by with blue collared jobs whilst their women produce babies and orgasm over patriarchy (!). My only message to those two Eton mess' is fuck you. Fuck you and I hope you choke on your next popodom and whilst you're at it shove another silver spoon up your arse until you're in so much agony that you need to call your Pakistani private doctor "Dr. Shah" to leave you with a fat bill, leaving your Barclays saving's account to a minus four digit figure. 

I have to eat curry because I'm brown

So I stand at my stall at an "all white" fair, with the exception of the stand on our left which polluted the air with samosas and salad. I'm cold, wet and shivering. Three feelings which come under neglect.

I stare at my table which looks like something out of 'My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding' I sigh at how I can't afford the maroon bag with embossed snake print because it's £4.99 and I only have three sorry pounds in my pocket.
I sold nothing. Minutes, hours went by and all I could think of was the samosas. They smelt like my aunts at Eid, but the association didn't put me off at all. We set up at 10am and now it's 12.45pm. Fuck it. I wanted tea. Yes. Best believe coffee has been eliminated from my diet because...I can't think of a reason but I'll get to it one day. So...I politely ask my colleagues and off I went. It was like God blessed me with the ice bucket challenge as soon as I left the stall. Soaking. Drenched. I now stood outside the burger bar. Two fat white men were "busy" assembling a burger for the old lady in front of me. I stood for three long minutes until I was noticed.
"Hello!"
"Hello, two teas please!"
"Two Teas!" and he poured hot water into two cups.
"We sell tea to everyone you know! Everyone."
Now hol' up. What?! Why is he saying that?
"Yeah...I know" I replied.
"I mean, everyone!"
I wanted to sandwich his dick in the grill.
The white old lady smiled to reveal her dentures and her side man smiled too.
"How much change would you like?"
Right he's testing me, brave.
"Well, considering one cup of tea is 60p, lets double that to make it £1.20, so £5- £1.20"
"Yeah, go on then" grinning.
Why the fuck is he smiling?
"£3.80"
His fat friend in the van laughs and drops his spatula.
Ben Dover for your man, prick.
"Thanks have a good day!" and I walked away with my tea+rain.

Next.

I'm stood behind my stall again. Waiting for customers to buy something again. My boots are wet and my feet are wet again. I can smell the waft of my aunt again.

"I'm SO hungry!" I moaned.
"So, what's it you eat then?"
"What?"
"I mean like, do you just eat curry and stuff?
Did I wake up to the year 1971?
"I like all cuisines, what makes you say that?"
"Well, you know you look like you really want a samosa so I thought..."
Wow
I smiled and replied "I enjoy every cuisine as much as you love your mum's bangers and mash."
He didn't know what to say so he shut his dumb-fuck mouth and continued to stare at his thumbs.

Now look. I'm not saying I want to create a jihad with people who aren't my skin colour. No. What I'm saying is, racism isn't as obvious anymore. It's not even religious discrimination. It's undermining the intelligence of someone who clearly looks different to you and the fuck load of ignorance that comes with it. I don't have to comment on these circumstances, but I think it's only right to confront this treatment. It's not the worst, but you have to let people know wagwarn.

I came across the mayor of Milton Keynes. A brown face. I wanted to shake his hand (whether that's religiously correct or not). He's Asian and he gave me the nod which equated to "respect".

I looked around and thought to myself about the lack of brown faces amongst the crowd. I feel sad that I am stood with stereotypical comments attacking me from left and right. I feel sad that my community is immersed in the regime of prayer, mute women and patriarchal men. What the fuck. Community only gets stronger once you let people understand you and it's sad that my family (community) aren't like that at all. I'm confined in my parent's culture where they state someones skin colour before their name and that isn't right either. I don't feel social solidarity at all. It's still fractured and it's because of this shitty little prejudice people contain inside them. 

And on that note, I just won 1-0 against India on Fifa. I was Côte d’Ivoire, big up my main man Yaya Toure.

Central London on my ones

13/05/2014

Sat on a bench in Hyde Park with the bipolar weather giving me sweats every two minutes in my Ted Baker coat.
Being careful not to sit in a sneaky puddle.

My boots are resting in the slightly pebbled path and I can feel my toes getting wet. Foreign people, actually German people walking past, the litter picker in his khaki hat walks past me. A group of eleven hench men following the path I front of me, 'ballers' I guess. And a Spanish nuclear family watching their three year old chase a squirrel round the trees. A modern looking scouts group on my left having a piggy back race and I hear a leash behind me.

Suitcases scrape as four girls walk past, their faces screaming 'i'm fucking jet-lagged'. 

Oh it's a sausage dog. There's a theme of holding big umbrellas if you're wearing a suit. And if you're not wearing a suit you're looked up and down like a dog.

All I wanted was a piss, I walked into Everbean, a cafe, that's a five minute walk from the Albemarle Gallery. That's were I was today. I was eager to visit Okafor's portrait exhibition. Stunning detail and marble floors only followed by glares and botched noses.

A typical middle class man walked in and the man at reception walked over to him only to ask if he was alright. He informed him about the gallery, the artist's history and handed him an A4 paper that listed all the portraits one by one.

Did I get one? Nah. Two women, both black walked in. Did they get one? Nah.

I think I wasn't dressed appropriately. Perhaps if I bought a blazer and some heels it would have done the trick. Or if I walked in with Gucci shades and a LV scarf. Maybe if I walked in with an Arab dad, or a white friend. Perhaps if my hair was permed straight and I spoke Queen's English. I should have done that really.

Throughout the whole day I had one conversation. One. The lovely lady without judgement asked me if I needed help. This was in the Fine Art building bear New Bond Street I think. I'm talking like I know the place. I walked past LV, Fendi, Chanel, I could go on. Audi, Ferrari and every logo. The Chalet bar, Starbucks, Pret, Eat, men, women, dogs, taxis, cabs, Bentleys, German whips. English, foreign. Italian, Arab, French, German, Iranian, Dutch, Thai Embassy. streets, grunge.

Well I pictured most of it. I am now in Hyde Park. Where there's a diversity. You need diversity. Well I need it cos I've had enough of people looking at me head to toe.

Chavs, now walk past, I quietly type cos lord knows if my phone gets taken I may just turn Solange on their asses and there is no CCTV to back me up. I'm empty inside. My belly is full of coffee and thoughts. I'm feeling really weird, like I've just fell in a pit.

It's called a thought hurricane and a storm of reflection. Damn I'm hungry.