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Last Saturday I was drunk, shock horror. Stumbling about Parkwood like an imbecile, I decided on going for an adventure, possibly to fight a dragon or punch a lion in the face. Instead I ended up eating a panini.

My adventure resulted in me breaking into Eliot, wandering downstairs and doing battle with the vending machines who surrendered their treasure to me. Victory tasted sweet. The excitement was unbearable and the choreography involved with my graceful button pressing was a sight beautiful enough to make the most hardened angel cry.

I am, of course, referring to the panini machine outside of Mungos, where for a modest £2.50 you can have a grilled panini of choice, cooked in about 3 minutes. I found the anticipation too much, so I bought a hot chocolate from the neighboring Nescafe machine. Full marks for convenience.

I found the wait to be possibly the best part. What will it look like? What will it taste like? How will it be dispensed? All these queries were soon settled with a thud as I saw my little bundle of bread, ham and melted cheese fall into view.

After wrestling the paper off my prize (with some still stuck upon it’s body, mind you) I took my first bite and it was sheer heaven. Full marks for flavor, however I have a feeling that when sober I would be less appreciative of the instant cuisine, but this wasn’t how it was received.

With my half eaten snack in one hand, and a cup of hot chocolate in the other, I ran into the night, cloaked with rain and listening to Sigur Ros. A brilliant end to the night.

I recommend the vending machines outside Mungos in Eliot to everyone with a tendency to munch out after a night of heavy drinking. I assume it is healthier, and it is certainly a damn site cheaper than a kebab. Less language barriers too.

The vendors have even given their machine a name, ‘Louise’. My ex-girlfriend was called Louise, although coming to think of it she never cooked me a panini. What a bitch.