That feckin' Ryan get gave me a Moonlight in Mayo fixation, that despite expensive Relate counselling, very nearly re-asserted itself in the public bar of the Queen's Head, Tolleshunt D'Arcy just last weekend.

However, having attended the graveyard shift of the Humberside Polis Special Whistles Division gala tea dance, as an Armed Salvation Army Binge Drinking Rapid Response Unit, in aforesaid pigmentally challenged Bouy inn, I bicycled the length of Hessle Road searching for fish and chips. I found many such places that John has so deliciously described, curry ships and the like, but eventually, like the pub with no beer, I found the fis (sic) shop with no fish, and indulged myself in Chips in Mayo, for the humble consideration of £1.

So, humming a private melody, I spread my ample transom on the bench on the Hull side of the Humber Bridge (and why isn't there one on the south side?) and consumed this unexpectedly vegetarian repaste with greasy relish, and wobbled home with many a Guiness burp along the way.

In future, I will leave the hallucogens to my friend John, but I will leave you with the question of how jOhn manages to get so pissed at work, with all that driving interfering with solid boozing?

Good night, and it's moonlight in Mayo.

Garrington