It was while sat on bench in Westward Ho! that I had one of those moments where you you question all of your life choices to date. Where ground in which just a few moments ago you stood, sure-footed, has become uncertain, shifting quicksand. I realised that I was bored of fish and chips. Not these particular ones, even if they were by no means the finest exemplar of the genre (I shan't name the chippy in question, but if you do find yourself in EX38, it's the posh one). The fish was decent, the chips sub-par to my way of thinking, bit too small, and definitely too pale, but not offensive as such, and, having just come out from an extensive swim in the sea, I was ravenous, and primed for quite literally all the carbs. Half-way through I realised I was bored out of my skull. Chips, chips and more chips. It became a chore. This was a slightly disturbing realisation for me, in my professional life I've got a pretty decent rep for my fish and chips, to suddenly realise that I...
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