Comfort food

After a hard day's graft, a working man deserves a bit of comfort food.

Purchased for $10 from the Dayboro Cafe, I declined the offer of salt and vinegar, and I elected not to administer lashings of tomato sauce when I got home. That, however, describes the full extent of my social reconstruction as a sensible, new-age, health conscious fish and chip consumer.

Once the pack was open on the kitchen table it was inhaled in five minutes flat, wiped my mouth with the screwed up chip paper, and washed it down with a piping hot cup of tea.

I now have indigestion, but I allowed for this even before I got in the car to go to Dayboro.