Rosie and her brother, James, lived on a farm on the outskirts of a village near Derby. The school bus took us past their farm each day, a collection of ramshackle, rusting, corrugated iron sheds, some of which fell over if the weather was bad.
Because of their ethnic origin, it was widely acknowledged that the sheds were in this state because Rosie, James and their parents ate too much curry; first year R.E. dictating anyone from India ate curry and first year biology dictating that eating curry led to guffs-a-plenty.
To keep Anglo/Indian diplomatic relations healthy, an enterprising group of us took to throwing our sandwiches out of the bus window as we passed the farm, figuring that Rosie and James' bowels needed all the normal food they could get. When Rosie, who at the time was too young to attend senior school, began to wait at the bottom of the drive when the bus went past, the rain of uneaten lunches turned into a downpour.
The sheds were still ramshackle, though, and when it was eventually pointed out that Rosie was actually waiting for her brother to get off the bus, the sandwich throwing stopped. Our generosity turned to anger and we just threw whatever came to hand - text books, eggs, and even water balloons were popular for a while, but no-one managed to top Kevin's inspired "Do-it-all Painting and Decorating Guide".
Looking back now, the most tear-jerking thing about the whole sorry story is that *everything* we threw from the bus would be gone the next day. Their farm might have been a shithole but those Indians certainly kept their drive clean.