Pretty much so, though the southern border appears too low, like the waistline of those hammock-crotched jeans favoured by feckless urban youth. While we did have chips and gravy in the East Midlands such a choice would make you out as a potential dissident, one of those people who might be found to be 'talking proper.' We had little tolerance for people who spoke in such a manner that there arose a genuine danger of comprehensibility.
Now, we had gravy, don't get me wrong. But it was proper gravy, stewed up after you'd roasted a joint of meat dry (top tip, if you start Thursday evening it can be ready for Sunday dinner). It was a sort of gloopy stuff, the consistency (and taste) of warm bitumen.
Now you could have curry sauce in the chippy, which was an odd one, because there was near total aversion to anything 'foreign' that chip shop curry sauce slinked its way around. OK, I know it's not actually curry, but it's was dangerously spicy for the East Midlands. We'd only got salt and pepper a few years earlier.