Big Fat Greek 18th

We arrive at 'Galu', in Surrey. Champagne is served in the privately hired restaurant, as the room fills with family and friends. My brother is enjoying the champers a little too much.

“Hello, you are looking well, ” says my dad, to a man he recognizes.

“Yes, we’re lucky, we’re good looking b******s,” replies this man.

And so the night begins…

The atmosphere is buzzing, Mediterranean glamour exudes everywhere. I spot a yaya in leopard print; a gentle reminder that F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S. isn’t just a word. I’m definitely in the right place. I can’t help but smile at this point. (Hopefully no one saw me.)

How refreshing. Not least because there is an abundance of animal print .

I’m so glad I'm sporting a shiny dress and fur (it isn’t real, relax) coat.

Tables are ordered tactfully into different groups. I sit down drink in hand, and start to make conversation with other guests on my table. I meet a girl whose life has been so similar to my own it’s no longer uncanny, it's just scary. She's smart and gorgeous, naturally.

“How do you know Andreas?” and “You look Greek!” are the opening lines.

"Xekina Mia Psaroboula" is playing, as the mezze is served.

We all begin to stuff our *delicate* faces. Wow, normally I eat all the pies alone.

*EYESLIGHTUP* Calamari are served then meats, fruit, cake & Greek sweets…by now I’m bulging, so I attempt to wash it down with a glass of wine, or two.

It doesn’t work, I just feel my cheeks getting redder and my smiles getting sloppy.

The Greek dancing ensues, and I have to admit I wanted to join in, but I didn't want to spoil the seriousness of those arm moves. Then out of nowhere, Mama and Papa start dancing ‘Greek style’ without knowing the moves, I'm encouraging them obviously.

After an indulgent few hours, which made my high school leaving ball at the queen stand seem like the set of sesame street, the cab has arrived in a less than cindarella-esque manner, and we leave.

Good bye little-peice-of-Greece, hello stuffed vine leaves and the gym. URGH.