This post is by Nina Stibbe from Books | The Guardian
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The author on public chip fights, family shame – and starting a new life in the Leicestershire village
We had already disgraced ourselves in one Leicestershire village when we moved to Fleckney. After leaving the leafy suburb of Stoneygate when my parents divorced, we had a stint in Countesthorpe, a village south of the city in the district of Blaby (of Lord Lawson fame) with more than its fair share of amenities, including the largest garden centre in the Midlands, which smelled of geraniums and sold single cigarettes.
Practically the first thing my siblings and I did in Countesthorpe was have a chip fight in the street. I squirted my sister with a warm Ski yoghurt – inedible, having been displayed on the shelf above the fryer in the chip shop (I wasn’t going to eat it, so what else was I going to do with it?). After ...