I hold these truths to be self-evident

One. That I am incapable of being in central London later than 2am without being drawn to one of the dodgy pizza places that litter Leicester Square and Charing Cross Road. It’s a post-booze craving for bread and fat, I think. And whatever filth and disease lives on slices of cold, drab pizza that are blasted for 30 seconds in a microwave before blistering the tongue.

Two. That, despite not getting to bed until 6am, the cat will wake me at 8am like this:

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