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Hot chips! BUT...neatly arranged in a box, saturated with advertising? Not how I remember it! In my psyche the beach and chips are synonymous. Parallel thought patterns intersecting at the counter of Peters By The Sea. An hour or so totally dedicated to body surfing, competing with my best friend to win the race to the shore; both of us searching for that ever elusive 'perfect wave'. Nothing more than a vain hope. As a young kid surfing Scarborough beach in the late fifties it was more about being dumped. Being hurled into that washing machine of sand and seawater, emerging seconds later spluttering and out of breath, breaching the frothy turbulence, saltiness in the mouth, small pieces of seaweed clinging to arms as one stumbled to regain control in the swirling water - closer to the shore, but sadly without the heroics of surfing that perfect wave. Often, all that was soon forgotten as the hot bundle was handled across the counter, snatched by a pair of eager hands, followed by the almost desperate tear in the newspaper, the emerging steam, and then the delicious salty taste of hot, shared, chips. Bitumen underfoot as we laughingly walked our way back home eager to renew our surfing competition on another day, each of us confidently claiming victory.
