I can’t think of any good reason why this actually happened, so I’m not going to. But it was mainly because my colleague R, suggested it. And because it brought back some weird feelings of nostalgia. Firstly, because when I worked at one particular office, there was a Pizza Hut on the corner, and at least once a month I dragged the features team there for a Friday afternoon pig out. And secondly, because during my four years at Edinburgh university, I worked in one, part time.

Ah, the memories of the scratchy red and grey nylon uniform, the horrific visors we had to wear on our heads (which always seemed to make one’s forehead even more spotty), the way we were basically treated as slave labour (a weekend shift starting at 9am involved vacuuming the whole restaurant and cleaning the toilets), the laughably low pay (I think at the time I was on about £3.08 per hour) and the constant smell of pizza which lingered, like an exotic European fragrance, around one’s person.

But there were high points, too: free pizzas when you went on your break! A 20% discount if you came in on a night off! And, er, that’s it. But we also used to hide white wine in a plastic cup and mix it with lemonade and drink it on shift (to get us through the horror of ‘student night’ in particular, which was the pre-cursor to the all you can eat buffet – serving a table of 6 beery English blokes who used to raid the buffet by putting practically a whole large pizza on one plate and do that thing with the salad bowls where you construct a tower out of cucumber slices and fill in the rest with potato salad and tomatoes and then leave the 1p change from the £4.99 they were charged as a particularly insulting tip), and took every opportunity to go to the big walk in freezer to stock up on cakes and pastries to shove some in our gobs, and sometimes give a ‘mistake’ order to the chefs so that when it transpired it wasn’t for an actual table we could gather around it like red and grey vultures and inhale it by the kitchen sinks….ah, good times. Good times.

Things haven’t changed much. There’s still a lunchtime buffet, with a few disconsolate, barely cooked pizzas sitting on the hotplates, next to a couple of sloppy tubs of ‘pasta’ (if you know how much I love pasta, you’ll know that this excuse for a carb fest is but a travesty) and the no-doubt germ-ridden salad bar. It used to be a point of pride for me, as a student myself, to enter all you can eat buffets with the clear intention of draining them dry (I think my record at one sitting was 13 large slices and a cherry tomato, for the vitamins) but times have changed, and I could only manage 3. And two scoops of pasta slop. But I ate it all, and even went back for a bit more, for old times’ sake. And then left, thanking God that I didn’t work there any more.