When the chips are down...

Well, there weren't actually any chips. They'd run out. They being Harry Ramsden's in Scarborough, but we'll get to that in a mo. A smashing Saturday in Whitby, busier than Whitby usually is because of Goth Weekend (everyone dressed up in an exciting array of costumes from Victorian Funeral Directors to Steampunk Time Explorers) despite the wind and occasional downpour, then on to Scarborough, for a reminisce of not only my childhood days away with grandparents, but those of my mother too, seeing the places she stayed in the late 50s and early 60s. The rain torrential, we jumped on board the cliff lift next to the Grand Hotel, a little faded these days in its grandeur, but still a recognisable landmark. Down on the seafront we dashed into the nearest café - the Harry Ramsden's, up the steps and sat in anticipation of hot food. Ok, so it was Harry's, we weren't expecting anything of Michelin star quality, of course not, but there are still standards. Unfortunately a party of under 8s from a rugby club arrived, all 20-odd of them, with one mother-type supervising, and numerous dad-types who appeared to think the place was a pub and sat down, sinking pint after pint, getting louder and louder. Guess where all the chips went. Somehow their order got filled first and we were left waiting and putting up with the increasingly obnoxious behaviour of the dad-types. After voicing complaints, we were offered 15% off the bill, which my friend agreed to while I harrumphed saying I'd have preferred 20%. Then the food did arrived and it was ok - it was fish and chips - and then the bill arrived - with 50% off!!! It was the best fish and chips ever!