Pizza. PJs. A good movie. The holy trinity of entertainment. There is something out of this world about lazily eating takeaway pizza, perhaps in a stained t-shirt and unflattering trousers, that is sometimes quite literally impossible to resist.
I favour a posh pizza. A Guardian pizza. You know with some sunblush tomatoes, organic ingredients, maybe a truffle oil or perhaps topped with a cheese I’ve never heard of. My boyfriend Josh always opts for a Dominos and they always deliver. Quite literally (they never fail to turn up in about 10 minutes flat!) and in their filthy brilliance they too are glorious. Either way, from the grease stained box, to the first moment when you lift open the cardboard lid and have a blast of melty, cheesy goodness, takeaway pizzas are the ultimate guilty pleasure.