When you're drunk, a lot of things seem like absolutely amazing ideas. Stripping and pretending to be a Nazgul from Lord of The Rings atop a transit van (looking at you, Bean), going to Romford when you have work in the morning and getting absolutely dump-trucked, and the king of them all, buying drunk food. As far as drunk food goes, my pals and I are bastions of Subway, with its warm, crispy bread, and lashings of Southwest sauce.
Coming out of Opium (Buddha Lounge to the youngens...wow, I feel old), Sam Ham and myself decided Subway was the way forward. We traversed the length of Romford ready to get our hands on some sweet, sweet, sandwich. Only....
Closed....what the fuck. Our lives crashed down around us like a fat kid being told McDonalds was closed. No worries, we thought. We'll go McDonalds. But, lowe and behold, also closed. We had become the proverbial fat kid.
"How about the MaccyD on the a127?" Sam Ham suggested. What a fantastic plan, bang in a cab, through the drive thru, and we're at home, with 20 Nuggets each. We found ourselves a black cab, and hopped in. Nothing could go wrong here, perfect plan.
By the time we had reached the McDonalds, about half way home, the meter had risen to roughly £16, and we were told we had to wait 4 minutes for our nuggets. Crisis. At this point Sam Ham was still suggesting we bail, which, although good for our wallets, did leave us hungry and half way down a motorway. Persevering, we waited, and arrived back at Upminster station with our nuggets in hand. The final total was £30, and we had somehow paid £7 each for the food. Fuck it, got my nuggets.
"I'm not even that hungry" said Sam Ham.