The joy of hungover Nando’s

In my 3rd year of uni, I had a bit of a weekly ritual with 2 of the other ladies on my course. Every Tuesday night we went out and got smashed on cheap, disgusting student night hooch, and every Wednesday morning we dragged ourselves out to a graphic design workshop at 9am. Those were the days!

We did this for the whole academic year, which I think shows a lot of commitment. Less because working on a dusty Mac was the highlight of our week, and more because one of the lecturers was quite fit. A lack of men – and of other people in general – in our classes meant we drank up the sight of this guy like WKD Blue on ‘everything’s a quid’ night. The 3 of us even got up earlier than strictly necessary to put on decent outfits and some slap. On arrival we’d look each other up and down slowly with disdain, which with a banging headache is not easy. God, it was so worth it.

The other reason we did this was for the food afterwards. Once we’d survived 3 hours of painful unrequited eye contact and not actually doing any design work, we’d pile in the car and go to Nando’s for lunch.

Those lunches were bloody amazing. Peri chips were what we lived for on a quiet, uncomfortable Wednesday after very little sleep and some eye candy. Forget hair of the dog. When you’re still a bit pissed at midday, what you need is a liberal application of Nando’s directly to the face.

There was this one time we’d saved up enough little unreadable scribbles on bits of cardboard – they don’t make them like that nowadays – for an entire chicken. We claimed that chicken, and that day we feasted like kings. Heavily made up, hungover, hormonal female kings.

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