A story to reflect upon.

Just over a week ago my mother told me that for my Grandma's birthday we had been invited to a meal. My Grandma is a sprightly seven hundred years old and doesn't look a day over seventy two. Normally due to relations between my Dad and Grandma not being all what you would hope such a relationship to be, our side of the family are not asked along to these events (at least not I nor my father and older brothers) but I think they needed space to fill and I was a bum for an witting or unwitting seat.

The restaurant was an Italian place in Blackrod. Most of the family on my mothers side remained in or around Aspull (being where my Mum and her family grew up) with only my mother moving away to Worsley Mesnes with the rest of the scum. I should say that I am not bitter about relations amongst my family, we all love each other very dearly and although we may poke fun, the jocularity is just that, and I am very glad to be invited to such events, as I was with this one. I also don't want you thinking that my mothers side of the family consider themselves of higher status or bluer blood, we went to a posh Italian restaurant on a Friday evening because there was an offer on which would my my tight fisted Grandma happy, it was her birthday after all.

We all sat down to peruse the menu and pick our starters. There were my two Aunts, two husbands and five cousins (and two boyfriends of the former,) my Uncle with his wife and their four kids, my Mother, myself and of course, my Grandma. They had two vegetarian options, one being fried cheese and the other being breaded mushrooms. Both of these did not appeal to me as I am neither a fan of cheese or garlic (which the mushrooms were smothered in.) So naturally I took a look at the fish options and found there to be Prawn Cocktail, and 'Whitebait.'

Well, you reading this may be more in the know than I, who was at a loss as to what Whitebait could be. I surmised it was fish (that University education not going to waste) but there are plenty other fish in the sea as they say and some are more fish-like than others.

So here I was, at the cross roads. Do I take the safe, reliable and generally pleasing Prawn Cocktail in Marie Rose Sauce. This of course being something I enjoy and seldom get to eat or prepare myself, or do I be adventurous, live outside the box, a rebel of the restaurant, throw caution to the wind, be devil may care, to hell in a hand basket and order this peculiar but peculiarly alluring Whitebait. Why would I even consider ordering something which I had no clue of? This isn't Sye... Then again, University is an adventure. Stand-up comedy was an adventure. Moving out was an adventure. Look where all my adventures have led me, the people I've met, the amazing things I've experienced all through taking the bull by the horns. This is what 'Whitebait' represented, it was my freedom, my vice, everything I had denied myself and both strived for and feared in equal and insurmountable measure. It was my Everest, my catwalk, my prime time début. It was stepping outside of myself and living outside of the box known as safe, from which all of my most treasured experiences birth.

"Dovrò bianchetti per favore" I said, "I'll have the Whitebait."...

...I could have died.

These poor little darling fish were looking up at me, accusatory even in death. Their little faces twisted in rictus as the look of pure terror and innocence forever shone from their now mortified, deathly staring eyes. I sat there, equipped with knife and fork in each hand with my mouth as open wide as the fish on the plate, with the same look of horror and an overwhelming feeling of guilt. I know I didn't kill them, I know I was not the one to the deep fry them in a jacuzzi of vegetable fat and indignity, I know I was not the one to serve them with a wedge of lemon, some side salad and the hope of a long and happy uneventful life. I had chosen adventure, and was presented with my reward.

"This is finer living!?" I thought, "This is the upper echelon at its peak!?" Of course it isn't, they probably spend slightly more than what we did particularly in light of the offer we took advantage of. But have no fear, the delights of my family were on hand to rectify the situation. My aunts husband, my uncle I suppose, swapped his starter for mine. I was eating deep fried Camembert and loving every bite of it, albeit guiltily considering my uncle then forewent a starter and settled for picking from other people (which I was fully prepared to do, though of course when the offer of an alternative starter came up I went for it.)

There we have it, I picked adventure and lucked out. I will leave you to take from this story what you want and to draw your own conclusions but I will finish on this note; I had a wonderful night, I found that I like 'Deep fried Camembert' very much, and my Grandma enjoyed her birthday.

Did I make the wrong choice in being adventurous? That's up to you. I will be adventurous next time though, because what's life without a little of the unknown.