I decided to go in search of something wholesome and British, but in this ancient town, all that could be found was fish and chips, chips and chips, fast food chains and of course chips. The only alternative was a steak, but at about twenty quid a shot I decided against it, as I know from experience that 'rare' here normally means you'll be served something which resembles an old shoe.
Hunger finally drove me into the nearest establishment which purported to be a restaurant. There were booths along the walls, designed for four people. One of these spaces was occupied by two women, who were almost certainly members of the Creosote family. They took up the entire space.
One of them stood up to take a break, having finished shovelling a platter of fat and chips and went outside, for an inter-prandial fag to get in shape for attacking a gigantic sugar and cream confection: 'God, my knees are killing me.' I don't know why, but the name 'Costa Concordia' immediately sprang to mind.
The waitress approached and I ordered a burger which, much to my surprise, came with chips. There was also the bewildering combination of onion rings, coleslaw, a small tomato and barbecue sauce. Anything green was conspicuous by its absence. The waitress, as usual, was smily and tried very hard to be helpful. I didn't ask too many questions as the response to everything, including 'hello,' was 'luvvly.'
No wotteye mean?
Although I wasn't expecting haute cuisine........ well, let's say I ate the bare minimum until I didn't feel quite so hungry. The burger wasn't bad, except it had one of those square pieces of gaudy cheese adhering to it. Deep fried onion rings aren't my thing and the barbecue sauce was this strange red gloop which tasted like someone had stirred a bucket of brackish water with a burnt stick.
I've had worse. Croatia, for example, but for the rest of my stay, I think I'll eat at home.