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A word to the wise.

And to the downright witless too; this is an equal opportunities blog, dear friends. 'twould be churlish to assume otherwise.

I don't like to spread gossip or misapprehension or malignancy or measles, but something odd is springing up on Market Street. Shrouded in secrecy and furtive with frangipan, the former Old Mill Coffee shop has a vast sheet of MDF nailed over the front window and much crashing and banging is to be heard within. As it is, himself and myself happened to be passing the other night when they'd taken the board down and we had an impertinent nose as we passed.

Now, either they're setting up a Mission Control for a console a space mission on Mars or they're putting in a chip frying unit. I'm praying for the former. (Q: are Agnostics allowed to pray? It's a good one and another flight of fancy entirely.)

Houston, we have a problem. We've run out of ketchup packets and Nigel's fallen in the beer batter vat.

Better pop round the Spar then, Horatio! Ketchup is the opium of the fried food fanatic and 'tis surely a criminal offence in this kingdom to sell chips without ketchup!

And what about Nigel?

Frying Tonight!

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