We’ve all seen it before.

People win an award, walk up to the stage, say they never expected such a thing to ever happen – and then proceed to whip out a neat set of pre-prepared ‘thank you ever so much’ notes.

Last night, I was presented with the Young Journalist of the Year Award at the GG2 annual awards ceremony – an event that recognises the contributions of ethnic minorities to Britain.

Truly, I never expected to win.

I never expected an event sponsored by an Asian media group to recognise the contributions of a Jewish journalist. Why should they?

Nevertheless, shortlisted for the award, I happily attended the ceremony – bringing my bouncy mother along for good measure.

After all, it was down to her that I’d been shortlisted.

Ever since I joined the JC, I have written about the cultural complexities that come with being the British-born daughter of Iraqi Jewish parents – people who had been forced to flee Baghdad in the 1970s in the wake of increasing antisemitism and persecution.

I have told the untold story of my grandfather who was imprisoned by Saddam Hussein’s government for being a “Zionist spy” (just FYI, he wasn’t). I have told the story of my family, who were forced to leave their businesses, homes and most personal possessions behind in a bid to make a safe escape in the dark of the night through Kurdistan, Iran and Turkey – before seeking refuge in Israel or any European country that would have them.

I have performed impersonations of my distinctly Middle Eastern family – who sing Rosh Hashana and Chanucah songs in Arabic.

It’s a background alien to most – which is why I felt I had little chance of winning.

As they announced my name and I walked up to the stage, free of any pre-prepared notes, all I could ask myself was: “Why hadn’t I sorted out my hair?”

But it was a truly special – and important event.

After Justice Secretary Michael Gove performed one of the most surreal raps – or in his words, “chap hop” - known to mankind; my mum and I had a chance to connect with our table.

We were the only women on it – and therefore a bit of an exciting novelty.

“Auntie!” hollered one man from Mumbai, as he leaned over to talk to my mum. She feigned offence – but knew what he meant.

It’s a sign of respect, something you call anyone older than you. She does the same; as do I, when I’m introduced to any Iraqi Jewish woman I’ve never met before.

As we tucked into an array of the best curries I’ve ever tasted, I learned so much about the contributions ethnic minorities have made to Britain.

We can build up businesses, join top professions and contribute to academia without having to compromise on our culture – more often than not: food, language and religion.

That’s why it meant so much to win this award – and why today, ethnic minority journalism in Britain is more important than ever.