There’s a bloke down my street dressed as Spider-Man. He’s been there for a week, gritting his teeth through the tail end of Storm Doris – weather that would test the toughest superhero, let alone one wearing holey Nikes. He’s also wearing a sandwich board, declaring that Domino’s has just opened in the next town.
Such news was of no use to me, a coeliac with ten years’ gluten-free living under her belt. Or so I thought. Still, feeling sentimental, and possibly a bit masochistic, I leafed through the leaflet to drool at some old friends. In particular, Domino’s Texas BBQ pizza, which got me through a rather miserable break up. The man in question had packed his bags after I’d ignored him for a fortnight then taken another chap to the world darts finals. Fair enough, really. So he took off and I took up with takeaways.