I felt lightheaded. The tiredness would hit me later but for now, I was very happy because I had handed in the report. To reward myself, I gave into my guilty food pleasure: KFC. I rarely eat it (mindful of the implications for the environment, animal cruelty, my health and social justice) but when it comes down to it, I love the taste of KFC chicken skin.

It was peak dinner time when I walked into the restaurant, which was oddly deserted. There were three cashiers to handle the non-existent dinner rush. They watched me come down to the front.

Under the pressure of their gazes, I walked up to the counter before I was ready. I had anticipated having time as I queued to put on my glasses and read the menu. Yes, it’s true. Some people do read fast food menus (and instruction manuals for new phones and cameras).

‘Hi, what would you like to order?’ said the blonde.

I had a vague idea of what I wanted.

‘I’d like a ‘mini something’,’ I said. Squinting at the menu above her, I tried to find the full name of what I was thinking of.

‘Mini…?’ the cashier prompted.

‘A mini fillet burger?’ guessed her brunette colleague from cashier on her right.

I shook my head. ‘No…’

‘Popcorn chicken?’ guessed the other cashier further along.

‘No, no,’ I waved my arms about. ‘It comes in a box.’

‘A box like that one?’ the brunette asked, pointing to the picture of a burger meal in a box.

‘Yes, a box. But smaller than that one.’

My blonde cashier brightened. ‘A mini variety pack!’

‘Yes!’ I nodded enthusiastically.

‘Two hot wings, an piece of original and small chips?’ she confirmed.

‘That’s the one!’

‘That’ll be £2.19, please.’