Blame Canada

When I first came to England as a 6 year old, I didn't really know how everything worked and was also not blessed with a huge amount of common sense. As a result, I often messed up (often very publicly, like not knowing what to do in a game of netball) which either annoyed people or made them laugh.

I can thank the Canadians (and 21 years of maturity) that the same thing hasn't happened here. It felt pretty close on Sunday though, when I stopped at a flashing red traffic light and had no idea what to do. We just don't have them in England, and I'd totally forgotten what it meant in Canada. With the car behind me beeping and having nearly pulled into traffic moving the other way, I panicked so much I couldn't hear Joe telling me what to do. Finally I figured everyone was just waiting for me, so I drove off with a screech of rubber. In my mind I'd just thrown the ball to the other team and Emma Carter was screaming at me in frustration.

Anyway, traumatic psychological flashbacks aside, it's been a pretty good weekend. On Sunday evening I went to an Indian women's party one of Joe's colleague’s wives had invited me to. She'd even got me a beautiful dark green pyjama suit embroidered in gold with little sparkles all over it.

I was going to meet her there, so I walked into the big hall looking for someone with long dark hair in Indian dress. That narrowed it down to the entire room. As I walked around looking for Balwinder, I could feel a thousand eyes following me around. Not only was I the only white person in the place, but staring isn't a problem in Indian culture (hey, at least they’re not pretending not to stare). In fact, from my experience in the country itself, it's positively encouraged. I felt like a piece of white chocolate in a bag of Buttons.

Anyway, I eventually found her and suddenly there was a flurry of activity in an attempt to make me ‘look Indian’. I have to say, they did a pretty good job (see below!). What with nose rings, arm bracelets, and earrings with bits woven into my hair, the jewellery stall made a killing. And I felt great : )

[Above: Possibly the least white I've looked in my entire life. And definitely the only time I've looked good in ethnic dress]

Then there was an Indian dancing and fashion show. This was supposed to be the highlight of the evening, but to be honest I preferred experiencing it than watching it. Being decorated like a Christmas tree (hey, I was in green), eating aloo and chickpeas, and dancing frenetically to bhangra later in the evening - those were my favourite parts. And at the end of it all, Balwinder’s sister-in-law invited me to a wedding.

“Don’t worry about what to wear. Our wardrobes are open – and we’ll make you look like a proper Indian woman,” she said. I can’t wait!!

The next morning I was back at the homeless shelter again, with only sore feet and green armpits (I guess my suit wasn’t colour fast!) as a reminder of the night before. A rude return to reality perhaps - but actually, I'm really beginning to enjoy it. As always, it's the people that make it. The shelter is for 13-25 year olds so everyone is roughly my age (okay, slightly younger), and although some of them are closed up, a lot of them are really open and friendly. My ‘helping out’ with breakfast involves chatting to people and having a laugh over free coffee. There's hard work too, but there’s still time to chat so it goes really quickly.

Towards the end of breakfast, I was talking to one guy about how I came from England.

“So, you moved all the way from England to Canada because you wanted to help out in a homeless shelter?” he asked, laughing.

That make me think. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what I want to do here. I'm guessing journalism has something to do with it. But for now at least, helping in a homeless shelter will do very nicely too.