Boy Wonderful and I are on our own this weekend as Gavstar has flown to the great southern for his sub-contractors' xmas do. (Yes, it's early for xmas parties, but we're heading to America in around three weeks time so we've got to get all the xmas stuff out of the way early!)
It's pretty rare that we get time to ourselves anymore, so we decided that dinner would be a treat - fish and chips.
Before I compounded the guts factor of the three bowls of ice-cream of a couple of days ago, we went for fish and chips as per my advice in my upcoming book,
The Goddess Diet:
"
If it takes 116 minutes of walking to work off a bucket of hot chips, for example, I suggest that before succumbing to this waist hazard you make sure you find a fast food joint that’s a two-hour return journey on foot."
Hence, we walked to a fish and chip joint in the next suburb.
Just as I had finished telling BW a story during our walk, and he had responded "that's interesting," the next street sign came into view: Bland St. BW was spewing that he missed a chance for a pun.
Today I am thankful that even a walk to the fish and chip shop can be infinitely entertaining.
