In London, the fish and chip connoisseurs of Greenwich experienced an unusual twist to their takeaway routine: a call to the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA) about an alleged “python” lurking in the establishment. It’s the sort of sentence that’s best read twice, just to make sure you haven’t wandered into a Monty Python sketch by mistake.
According to a report from UPI, animal rescuers arrived on the scene, where they discovered that the so-called python was, in truth, a juvenile corn snake—a considerably less dramatic noodle, at least in reptilian circles. Rather than some rogue invasive predator plotting a hostile takeover of Britain’s fried food supply, what unfolded was a wayward pet embarking on an impromptu culinary adventure courtesy of an unlocked apartment above the shop.
From Python Panic to Corn Snake Cameo
It’s hard to fault the fish and chip staff for their initial alarm. There’s a unique energy that sweeps over a room when someone announces, “There’s a python in the back.” One can only imagine the collective recoil: batter dropped, vinegar bottles clutched, perhaps even a pause in the sophisticated art of newspaper wrapping. The RSPCA, ever the professionals described in UPI’s account, arrived and swiftly cleared up the species confusion—long before anyone had time to compose an ode to snake-in-the-hole or battered serpent on chips.
As UPI notes, the recent warm weather has set more reptiles on the move, prompting the RSPCA to remind snake owners to be extra vigilant with terrarium security. Apparently, the corn snake’s summer jaunt began a floor above, but ended somewhere between the cod fillets and the ketchup packets. It’s tempting to picture a celebrity chef wandering in and getting ideas, but, perhaps for all diets involved, the chip shop menu remains unchanged.
False Alarms and Urban Wildlife
Incorrect animal IDs happen. An unexpected animal encounter is a Rorschach test writ large; even a regular customer or seasoned staffer can see “python” when the brain is presented with a sudden, wriggling plot twist. British chip shops, already microcosms of life’s little dramas, seem inadequate training grounds for amateur herpetologists. Is “Reptile Identification in Hospitality Environments” a class yet? If not, it may soon be in demand.
The outlet also points out that a ball python made the news in Massachusetts for going on walkabout, while Pennsylvania authorities recently wrangled a peacock hired for nothing in particular by an urban neighborhood. Is there a trend here—are animals increasingly eager for a taste of city life, or is it just that their curiosity keeps pace with ours?
Snakes, Chips, and the Great Indoors
The more you track these stories, the easier it is to appreciate why so many odd news headlines blend the everyday with the slightly surreal: peacocks strut through parking lots, sheep live their best lives in Oregon, and now, corn snakes drop in on British chip shops. Noting UPI’s broader collection of such moments, are slippery reptiles really that adept at locating open doors and warm kitchens, or are we simply constantly surprised by the ambition of the animal kingdom?
There’s a gentle irony here: a misidentified, pint-sized corn snake unwittingly upends the workday routine, setting in motion a brief flurry of concern and ultimately, a sigh of relief. Meanwhile, somewhere overhead, an apartment dweller is left puzzling over an unexpectedly empty terrarium and the logistics of a downstairs pickup.
So, was it the oddest thing to be found behind the counter at a chippy? Britain’s chip shops have always operated as liminal spaces, perched between the familiar and the unexpected. A surprise visit from a snake (wrongly promoted to python) feels strangely apt in a world where you can’t be entirely sure what’s in the basket—let alone who, or what, might be eyeing your supper from the shadows.
If nothing else, let it be a gentle lesson: always secure your pets—especially the ones with a knack for adventure and a slippery sense of direction. Does it make you wonder what tomorrow’s headline will bring, or if, by chance, the next odd intruder will be an actual python or something even less expected? The boundaries between our world and that of the wandering animal seem, once again, thin as a chip shop counter.
