Yet another English institution I recall fondly from childhood, and which I'm happy to say I lived with a lot in Victoria, BC, that little outpost of Ye Oldie Englandie, is the chippy. The Fish n' Chip shop.
Usually without seating or the slightest pretentions to "frills" and about the last place in the world you'd find anything resembling a "latte" or any kind of pretentious $5 coffee, the chippy probably keeps more British people alive than the NHS ever dreamed.
Went to one of the ones in Whitchurch today. Got me a slab of battered fish and a stick of crispy battered mushrooms, with about half a bottle of brown vinegar, for about 3 quid.
It was great.
And as soon as All Good Things are restored, and 'Elf n' Safety's goons are suitably accommodated at Her Majesty's Pleasure, I'm sure we can get rid of the styrofoam boxes and go back to wrapping them in newspaper, as God intended.
Glad we don't have one in the village or it would not be long before I no longer fit into my tweed church-going jackets.
4 comments:
There's one in the east End of Glasgow with bars at the window. We still get the fish and chips wrapped in paper up here, Deo Gratias!
Sorry, hat's bars at the serving counter, rather than the window. Poor people have poor ways, I guess.
'that's', rather than 'hat's'. I'll get my coat....
Oh, how I miss them (studied in Scotland in 1989). Wrapped in newspaper, a little foretaste of heaven.
Styrofoam now? Atrocious.
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