I eat some chips.

Potatoes are my favourite vegetable – they are so versatile. Mashed, roasted, crisped, boiled, fried…they have more faces than Madonna, or something. There is so much you can do with a bag of good quality potatoes, I almost consider myself a connoisseur.

My greatest love, of all the possible permutations of potato, is chips. I had some chips the other day when I was out for a drive – for me it’s the logical pinnacle of a good drive somewhere. I love chips. Whenever I move to a new house, one of the first things I do after unpacking is find out where the best chip shop is nearby.

I have to say though that the selection in Mitcham (for this is where I live in south London) has rather outfoxed me. The best one I have found so far is a Chinese takeaway that has made a surprisingly good stab at emulating the work of your traditional olde English chippe shoppe. Normally such efforts are unsalted, chewy disappointments unworthy of the name.

These are good chips – unexceptional, in the grand scheme of chips, but decent nonetheless. Because a not-so-good chip can be extremely upsetting. Take the chips I had on my drive out into the countryside the other day: undercooked, too big, far too small a portion. Potatoes might be versatile, but they just can’t tolerate mediocre cookery.