I woke up this morning [OK, this afternoon] half-lying on a plastic bag from the 24-hour shop on West End Lane. Examining its contents, I discovered:

1 package of Emmentaler slices [Swiss cheese. Manufacturer: Toni. Swiss Toni.]

1 packet of full-roast ground coffee [taste guide 5: "strong"]

1 jar of Georgian orange marmalade [taste guide 7: "challenging"]

1 package of Roquefort blue cheese [taste guide: fucking toxic]

1 tub of Brussels paté ["smooth pork and pork liver paté"]

One loaf of spongy white sliced Sunblest

The Guardian

The paté had been opened, and half of its contents had been eaten, showing signs of having been gouged out with folded-up slices of bread. What is it with food you'd only buy when you're drunk, and only in a 24-hour shop? And why the craving for intense flavours? The paté may explain why I feel like shit today. Then again, the bottle of Shiraz [taste guide: "blackberry, plum, leather, freshly-turned earth, licorice and violet"] and six pints of Kronenbourg [taste guide: stale vomit] at Club Kali [taste guide: a Wembley three-piece lounge suite] may have something to do with it.