We even have proper chippies in the jungles of Surrey, the ones that are never open at the times when chips seem like a good idea, have non-brewed condiment and pickled eggs on the counter, wooden forks, and the exotic end of their menu is a burger. They still survive among the ubiquitous kebabaries and fast food foulness. One of my favourite memories of growing up was my gran sending me across the road to the chippie with a bowl to be filled. You took your own. I thought that was normal and everyone had a chip bowl and fish dish.
To be honest, and I know it's heretical, but I like the idea (and smell, of course) of fish and chips more than the actuality. After a couple of mouthfuls you're left dutifully shoveling stodge and grease into your mouth with little of your previous enthusiasm.
