Black and white

I was brought up to be extremely politically correct. With two teachers as parents (as in my parents were teachers, not that I was adopted by staff at the school), I was brought up knowing all the latest politically-correct (and often bollocks) jargon. It was not a blackboard, it was a chalkboard. It was not a black coffee, it was a coffee without milk. Mrs Nunn made me wear a sari to school for Diwali and made me go to Asian silk painting workshops to embrace our wider cultural heritage. To this day, Mrs Nunn's greatest hope is that I will cop off with an Indian doctor.

She got quite excited when she heard I was dating an African... less so when she found out he was white.

And like every Londoner, of course I have black friends, Asian friends, skilled colleagues from all races and religions and a Polish cleaner. OK, maybe that last one doesn't count. The world has embraced Obama as the USA's leader; surely we're moving towards a more accepting world? Surely? However, I've always worried that deep down, maybe there is a tiny bit of racism lurking within me.

I have been brought up to be sensitive of other people's cultures and religions, and even have successfully made friends with people who hold beliefs I find ridiculous (mostly Christians).

But this week for the first time I genuinely realised that I'm honestly not at all racist. For the first time ever, I've finally met a black person that I just don't like. Yes, I am non-racist enough to judge this person for the tosspot wanker they actually are, rather than the colour of their skin.

I hate a black person! Go me!