I'm just a working class boy from the streets. I never went to no Chinese restaurants as a child. The closest I ever got to going out for a meal in a restaurant with my family was when my dad didn't drunkenly beat me unconscious with his belt at the dinner table if we had company.

When she suggested we went for a Chinese for our first date I was a little nervous, because I'd never had the chance to learn how to use chopsticks. I wasn't too worried though, because I thought it would set the scene for her teaching me to use them, me getting it wrong and us laughing like idiots as we fell in love like something from a Meg Ryan/Jude Law type film.

Sadly life isn't like the movies. When I told her I'd never used chopsticks she looked disgusted. She did't find my failed attempts endearing or amusing either and she lost her patience pretty quickly. When I asked for a knife and fork she spat in my face, but her spit was soon lost amongst my tears (of sadness and shame).

Carl, Stoke.

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