Frozen

Sometimes when you have been standing in a light jacket, without an umbrella, for half an hour, in almost freezing temperatures, while it is pouring with rain, for 30 minutes, as it is getting dark, in the most soulless industrial park in the northwest of Dublin, you tend not to be in the most cheerful of moods.

And then when the bus arrives and you get wedged, standing between two large and in charge gentlemen, one of whom is clearly strongly opposed to a daily shower, you get to thinking.
About driving.

But as that is not immediately feasible, and you are too worn out and cold to contemplate anything other than sprawling out like a blimp on the sofa for the rest of the evening, you decide to compromise on your evening meal.

You won’t be unhealthy so do not get a takeaway.

You have no intention of going all out healthy either. So you call into Iceland – the budget  frozen food emporium – and buy oven ready chips and frozen cod and onion rings.

And you dine like king on the product of the freezer, delicately defrosted and heated in 220 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes.

And mighty tasty it was too.

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