Catch

She was hungry.
There was money in her pocket, plenty of money. She just had to decide what kind of food she'd like.
She walked along the high street. There were golden arches and burger royalty. There was chicken sold by a man of dubious military rank. There were plastic sandwiches and pizzas and  donuts. None of it looked any good.
What had happened to food in this country?
She saw a fish and chip shop. Good old British cuisine. The shop even had one of those great pun names, like Cod Bless You or The Time, The Plaice.
That's the ticket, she thought and went in and ordered cod, chips, mushy peas and a bread roll/bun/bap/insert local variation here. It was served in paper, not newspaper any more, but it was the best way to eat. Who needed plates?
She ate her fried meal with a smile on her face and despite it's immense greasiness she was very satisfied. She placed the wrappers in a bin and headed home.
She only just made it through her front door before the floodgates opened, as it were, and she spent the next three hours in her bathroom wishing she'd eaten elsewhere.