When we were teenagers one of our best things to do, if we weren’t napping together or sitting at the computer in the loft refining the menu for our dream specialist toastie cafe (we got there about 20 years before the cereal killer cafe), was walking into New Brighton proper to get chips, we’d eat them sitting on a bench outside the bowling alley and then walk home. One time, because she was going to be on holiday the next week, Caro thrust £2 (or whatever it cost back then) into my hand and demanded I go and get chips without her so hell bent was she on the tradition not being broken. I did it, of course I did, you simply didn’t refuse a request from Caro.