Ann sometimes has a hankering for fish and chips. I had plenty of that kind of food as a kid so I usually give it a pass, but I am happy to hunt around for venues she can enjoy this classic English fare in. Most pubs have a bistro and do an upmarket version of this humble staple, albeit at an inflated price and with much beer-batter-style fanfare.

That being the case, yesterday we attended the Royal Hotel in Springwood where fish and chips can be had at a price and on the understanding that it is to be known as barramundi-and-something in a poached-something-or-other. Anything for my beloved, of course!

My mind is often making strange connections between sometimes unrelated things, a habit that, now and then, produces a WTF expression on the face of the nearest person within earshot. Ann became baffled, then bemused, when I asked her to pose with our randomly-assigned meal number, though when I revealed the connection, she thought it was funny. For the record, Ann is 45 years old.