Going to the chipper brings so many tiny joys

WHEN you’ve been with someone a long time, you just know. You don’t have to say anything. It’s in the eyes. We exchange glances and giggle. With easy familiarity, I make my move — out the door and down to the chipper, says Colm O’Regan.

The decision to get a takeaway is one of the AFI (ah feck it) moments of adult life. Other AFIs include going to the off-licence, throwing all the clothes from the bed onto the floor and taking one look at a jar of gone-off something and just putting it in the evil landfill bin. They are just temporary lapses in the doctrine of ‘Doing The Right Thing’ which bring a little guilt afterwards. Although, chippers aren’t so guilty any more, now that it turns out that it was sugar was making us fat all along. Plus, going to the chipper brings so many tiny joys.

There is that beautiful moment when the takeaway is brought home and placed triumphantly on the table. A form of amnesia occurs where some people conveniently forget what they’ve ordered just so they can experience the Christmas morning feeling of surprise as they unwrap the bundles of delight.