What am I having for dinner tonight?
Shall I celebrate Friday with Angel Delight?
Shall I order a pizza or maybe a curry,
or noodles or sushi? But I needn’t worry,
’cause there’s only one meal that I want to eat,
and that’s a fish ’n’ chip supper as a Friday night treat!
Slip-quick as a flash, I’m off out to the chippy,
togged up in my jacket ’cause it’s Scotland and nippy,
and then I am there and I’m stood in the queue
with my eyes to the skies on a bullet point menu
with hundreds of options, but my love’s unconditional
for the first on the list: I’m going traditional.
I want fish! I want fish! I want chips and more chips!
I want salt! I want vinegar! I’m licking my lips
as it’s wrapped in a bag (“Help yersel’ tae a fork!”),
but by then I am out and I’m walking the walk
down the streets to the shore of the town where I’m from,
and I’m drawn like a magnet to the arms of the prom,
where the sea and the sky are a-trysting in blue,
so wide and so deep, and I drink in the view,
and I nestle between with my parcel, my treat,
as the sun takes its leave. Not a person I meet.
The harbour is quiet. Not a breath from the boats.
Silence from Hawick to John o’ Groats.
Then I open the bag, and I open up love,
and out comes the food and the stars up above
start to glimmer and shimmer in tastebuddy glee
at the sight of the fish and the chips on my knee,
’cause the universe knows and understands
that it’s not just a meal that’s here in my hands:
it’s more, so much more; it’s a memory, you see.
It’s a big little thing this Friday night tea,
and it’s big little things that warm us inside,
like a fish ’n’ chip supper that’s enjoyed by the tide.
So I eat and I look and I look and I eat,
giving thanks to the world for each Friday night treat,
and with mouthfuls delicious, I vow to hold dear
the gift of knowing that I was here,
beside the sea, beneath the sky,
at one with the world with my Friday night fry.
Aye, there’s no better feeling, I guarantee,
than fish ’n’ chips in your lap down the prom for your tea.