Another Lousy Fish Supper
The fish supper from the Crispy Cod was even worse if anything. When I complained about it Mother said she thought I’d said I was going to call in there to show them how to make batter. I didn’t want to go into detail about what had happened the other day so I just told her they were shut when I went and I hadn’t had the chance since. Then I asked her why she hadn’t checked out all the other chipshops in the area. She said she hadn’t seen the point if I was going to teach them how to make batter at the Crispy Cod.
I couldn’t eat the fish supper. I said so. Father, who hasn’t got my palate and will eat anything, put down his knife and fork for long enough to give me the old one that a starving African would eat it. I told him if he did he’d still be a starving African because as soon as he’d eaten it he’d bring it all back up again.
Mother made me a home-cooked roast ham sandwich with home-made piccalilli then I went out and spent the rest of the evening driving round looking for a chipshop that wasn’t Chinese. There weren’t any. All seven, within a four mile radius, were Chinese, except for one that was Indian, the Bhaji and Haddock or something. Whether Indians have as much trouble frying fish as Chinese I don’t know but when I got back I suggested to Mother that she might try it. She said she would.
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