The Fish and Chip Shop Story
My father fancied fish and chips and I was given the honour of paying a visit to our local fish and chip shop to get them. I was ten years old at the time and my younger sisters were, unfortunately for me, too young to even cross the road without an adult.
I was asked to buy one fish, four Cornish pasties and four lots of chips. I came back home with two Cornish pasties, two steak and kidney pies and two lots of chips because I couldn’t say ‘four’ and I couldn’t say ‘fish’ – I had no problem with the word ‘two’!
I put the newspaper-wrapped meal on a tray on the floor at my father’s feet, who had been waiting, knife and fork in hand. Then, I retreated to the safety of the stairs on route to my bedroom.
“John!” My father’s voice boomed through the walls. “Get back down here, now!”
I tried to explain that they must have forgotten to wrap his fish or perhaps it had fallen out on the way back up the hill from the shop.
Then, I said something on the lines of “Steak and kidney pies are nicer than fish anyway.”
I was sent back down the hill to the fish and chip shop, with the pies. My father reasoned that if I could say “two” then, I could say, “I don’t want these two pies, can you replace them with two Cornish pasties please.”
I was also told to ask, in no uncertain terms, why they had forgotten the fish and to inquire as to its whereabouts.
I practised saying the word ‘fish’ all the way to the shop. I must have said it a hundred times but when it came to the crunch and I had to say it in front of the woman at the counter and a packed shop, I changed the order to another steak and kidney pie.
I arrived home and this time I waited for my father to unwrap the food.
“At last!” he smiled, “I’m ready for this!”
Suffice to say, I was given a note with the order on it and sent back down the road once more. So, my father got his fish in the end.
For years afterwards, whenever I went to the shops, my mother would write things down for me.
Sometimes, I would stand behind boys who looked like they were about three and watched in awe as they ordered whatever they liked. Then, when it came to my turn, I’d pretend I’d lost my voice and hand over my list!
Stuttering is certainly a great way of dissolving one’s ego!