Chips.

I really like chips. This is a new realisation. When I was a child, all of my friends would eat chips at lunchtime as I tried to choke down my dairylea sandwiches on that kind of squishy white bread that always tastes a little bit like it isn't properly baked. I would never look at their chips with envy though, oh no. I was safe in my knowledge that chips were bad and I was an odd kid - so doing the opposite was ok.

In the same way, I was just doing the opposite when all of my friends were getting girlfriends in their teens and I wasn't. Honest.

Anyway, tonight on my way home I passed a chip shop. And for the third time in just over a week, some unknown force dragged me towards said takeaway, like a greasy tractor beam. And just prior to writing this blog, I ate many chips. And a fishcake. And I now have this strange guilt, the same kind of guilt I would have post-masturbating as a callow youth: Knowing what I'd done was bad, but good lord did it feel good.

For the record, I don't smoke, drink or take drugs. Anymore. So this is to be my release, my opium. Anything deep fried.

The only thing better than chips is someone elses chips. Oh yeah. You know what I'm saying.

Ron knows. I was informed that Anchorman 2 is coming. I should probably claim to love loftier comedic films than anything starring Will Ferrell but naaah. He's hilarious. The fact that I own a "More Cowbell" t-shirt is testement to that.