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"In my family, it was Friday evening. Although we were religiously non-religious, we grew up in a town which was half Protestant and half Roman Catholic. The catholic population did not eat meat on Fridays and the local butchers did little trade, so they took they day off. No meat to be had. There were no supermarkets. \"What's a supermarket?\" we regularly cried.\n \n\n\n\t \n \n\n\n\tSo, it was F+C Friday for almost everyone. I remember, as a pre-school kid, running down the hill to the chippy to meet my father walking home from work from the oppposite direction. I remember the crowds standing in line. I remember the sound and smell of dinner cooking. I remember walking back up the hill clutching hot, newspaper packets of fish suppers as we called them. Great in winter for warming your freezing hands. Gloves hadn't yet been invented, I suppose. \n\t \n\tI remember the staff, who had the astonishing ability to remember everyone's preferences. They would shout to the fryers. \"Mrs. Smith next, then it's Tommy McIvor but his Ellen is no well, so she disnae want anything the night.\" On the rare occasions that they yelled \"One cod supper and a single black pudding\", necks would crane as people attempted to see what mysterious stranger had accidentally wandered into their midst like a lost explorer in the Amazon jungle on the telly. \n\t \n\tAnd I remember the taste. Despite my upbringing, I began to believe I was in heaven!\n \n\n\n\t \n \n\n\n\tP.S. I am a bit odd. I prefer my F+C to be salted only. Hold the vinegar.\n \n"
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