“And now for something completely different,” John read the sign over the doorway a few times before entering the store. He had never been to Markham before, but had heard that the town of 5,000 inhabitants boasted having the most fish and chip shops per capita of any town in the country. And that this one, the one with a very strange name, was simply the best. John had arrived in town, which was located on the South Western shore of England, not too far from Land’s End, the night before on a business trip.

In the past 10 years Markham had become a very popular place to hold seminars, especially in the tourism industry. John had his own cruise line named, “One by the bay and two by ship.” He had been invited by his vendors when they had seminars in Markham over the past few years, but they were always at inappropriate times for him. But this year, the seminar was being held in November which was definitely his off-season.

Markham was a very pretty town, with only one traffic light which was invariably not working, the joke being that the town council failed to keep up with the electricity payments; however, the real reason was unknown. There really wasn’t any need for a traffic light, because the village’s one and only policeman, David Hargreaves, enjoyed directing traffic, and the villagers enjoyed watching him take great enjoyment in that task. He most always drew a small crowd who gladly cheered him after his exhibition of both classical western and primitive Indian dances. Motorists had been known to sit in their cars in awe of their dance master, instead of heeding his directions. A sharp whistle was enough to bring them back to reality and the traffic flow resumed.

John still stood outside the establishment trying to decide if the name was just a way for them to distinguish themselves from the other 12 fish and chip stores or whether the sign meant what it said. He opened the door and walked in. Two things immediately caught his attention. First, the shop was rather small by any standards and secondly, it was crowded. Not all in there were locals because John recognised a number of seminar attendees who he had seen in the halls of the hotel where they were staying. One man in particular, dressed in bright green shorts, yellow buttoned-down dress shirt and a bowler hat smiled at him. John for a second did not want to acknowledge him, because it might mean that the others in there would think of him as being of the same ilk, but it was too late.

“What are you in the mood for?” asked the man.

John hesitated for a minute, “Fish and chips.”

“I hear the haddock and chips here are the best in all England.”

While John was thinking of a suitable response, the man introduced himself, “David Ackerman,” he said extending his hand, which after a split second of consideration he shook heartily.

David Ackerman was the seminar sponsor and one of his largest and most important vendors, yet he had never met him before. But after he had introduced himself, John recognised the voice.

“John Burgess,” he replied to which David smiled widely as he had difficulty putting a name to his voice.

“How about we grab some haddock and chips and go and eat it on the beach?”

John thought that was a grand idea as David ordered for the two of them, refusing John’s money. They left the small store and its overwhelming crowd and walked outside into the bright sunshine, crossed the street and walked towards the quiet beach. They sat down at one of the many empty benches and tables as John instinctively looked up at the sky before unwrapping his lunch. But he remembered it was November and there were no annoying seagulls.

“You never think that there would be palm trees growing in the south-west portion of England, would you?” said David as he sat down and unwrapped his lunch as well. Soon the wondrous smell of fried haddock and crispy chips wafted into the air and magically a seagull appeared much to the two men’s disappointment. However, it was a leftover from summer and no others joined him. John felt sorry for the seagull and threw it a chip. The seagull managed to catch it while it was still in the air.

“Isn’t it because of the warm currents brought here by the Gulf stream?” replied John.

“I believe you’re right.” David was busy devouring his haddock and chips and finished way ahead of John who wanted to savour every single morsel, not knowing if they would return to the fish and chip shop with a strange name. Yes, whoever had decided to rate this establishment as being the best and by whatever gauge they used, they were indeed correct. Both men were sorry that lunch had been consumed and toyed with the idea of returning for more but decided to make sure they returned the next day.

“Yes, I’m sure we will have time to return tomorrow,” said David, “especially when Jacob Kingsley of The Boy’s Life talks about his passion, his charity. It will be right at 12, lunchtime. I made sure of that. It’s not that I don’t approve of the charity, because we as a company donate generously to them, but when Jacob talks, he says ‘you know’ every couple minutes, and after listening to someone talk that way for 45 minutes, I don’t know about you, but fish and chips is the last thing on my mind. I would want a large Scotch and soda!”

Both men laughed and decided to walk back to the hotel by way of the village centre where Police Constable David Hargreaves was in the middle of his routine. They and everyone else who was gathered cheered and someone threw money at his feet. The police officer smiled, picked up the money and gave it to a woman he knew who didn’t have much to her name. That action elicited more money thrown his way, and so instead of truncating his routine when he normally did, Police Constable David Hargreaves of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary continued to the sheer delight of all, and the gratitude of the widow.

“Don’t tell Jacob Kingsley about this. He might cancel his talk and come here instead.”