Fish and Chips
Craving Fish and Chips about now. Slunk back in my chair, missing home (I’m Made in England). Self pitying, nostalgic yet content. You see the best Fish and Chips I had were from a local chippie in West London. Touch of vinegar, salt to dry out your mouth, pieces of golden battered cod and thick cut chips, drowning in tomato sauce. The lost art of eating out of old oil sodden newspaper. If I try to identify with what I’m feeling, I guess the expression would be something like homesickness; not overtly sentimental but definitely something akin to reminiscing.
I could sit here lamenting but within a few minutes my mind will be firmly rooted in the present. In a few minutes the very act of delving into past memories becomes dangerous. This is because someone will turn up to train Gung Fu. Should my mind meander onto matters other than the fact that my opponent is wearing gloves and firing fist missiles toward my face I stand to get hurt.
Fish and Chips can wait.
God Save the Queen.