Of All the Fish and Chip Shops in All the World

Of all the fish and chip shops in all the world, she had to walk into mine. Of course, I remembered her from that time in Luton – after all, no-one can ever forget Luton – but she hadn’t changed. I still remembered that walk, the way she looked at you as if she knew all your secrets and your dreams and would quite like to have a go at a few of them with you, especially the ones involving a large tin bath, nudity and a jug of warm custard.

Most of all, though, I remembered her attitude towards underwear and how she didn’t think much of it, especially when the draft from opening the chip shop door caused her skirt to fly up. I’d always known she was a natural blonde, but now the rest of the chip shop queue knew too.

Still, that night I’d been drinking, drinking to forget. It had worked, at least as far as my legs were concerned; they seemed to have forgotten how to walk. I’d made it to the chip shop though, and was about to be served.

She walked up to me, there at the head of the queue. ‘Let me order for you, Joe,’ she whispered. She stroked my chin with the tip of her finger. ‘I remember just what you like.’ I remembered that perfume, so did the rest of my body. She glanced down. ‘ So, you do remember me, Joe. Well…. Some of you does.’

She smiled. ‘Quite a lot of you, if I remember correctly… and I never forget a… face.’

She turned to the chip shop owner, waiting behind the counter. ‘Fish and chips, Steve… and… oh… plenty of vinegar on the chips.’

I smiled too… she did remember.

She turned back to me. ‘I also remember about the tin bath… and I’ve got some custard back at my place. Interested?’

I was.