Pleasure Palace

23/08/11

Friday was Fish and Chip night
(Not to be outdone by the Catholics in our weekly observance.)
Queuing down the street
Noses pressed against the glass
Frosted with steam.
The warm tang of the sea wrapped in the smell of hot fat,
Bursting into the lane from the welcoming doorway.

And then…. to step inside that palace.
A humid heaven.
Enveloped by the warmth and sounds.
That fairground of feast.
A shiny stainless steel hall of mirrors
Reflecting back misshapen anticipating faces.

Slabs of fish, bathed in creamy batter
Set chattering in the hot fat.
The applause of the chips as they swallow dived into that bubbling pool
And sent another blue haze of expectation streaming out to the excited crowd.
Vinegar sent helterskeltering round the bottle.
Salt scattering across the counter like tins knocked from a shy stall.
As aromas collided like dodgems in the air.
The sudden bell of the till, as a hammering finger announces another top prize.

And then, quickly home - As yesterday’s papers blacken our fingers
The heat starts to scorch our hands and we juggle packages as we walk.
The shop scent replaced by the perfume of warm newsprint.
The anticipation grows until finally we pull eagerly at the wrapping
And reveal the treasure within.

A different kind of prize gold fish!


© Ian Williams. 2009