Taking the Nandollar

Taking the Nandollar

I wrote about Nando’s chicken, incidentally, in a big review I did recently (the Elder Scrolls Oblivion – my quotes are all over London posters advertising it at the moment), mentioning that we’d been talking about the game over dinner at said Peri-peri bound establishment. I went on holiday, ahem, a Press Trip, and came back to find that Nandos (in the person of their friendly PR) have sent me several vouchers for free meals for two at their restaurants. Altogether, considering Nando’s prices and my wage, it’s a substantial sum of money – enough freebies that I need eat nothing else for a week. Woo, lucky me!

Howwwww…ever.

Obviously, this means I am now a whore, I’ve taken Nandos’ shilling, I shall in my not-too-distant dotage be forced to don a chicken suit and stand outside the futuristic Nandos with its evanescent chicken steak and traditional reformed longpig patties, and entice passers-by in with cock noises…

I’d like to protest I intended none of this, but the Nandobots tracked me down and reeducated me into their poultry loveness. Who shall I reference next though? Chupa Chups? Barratt’s homes? Pamela Anderson’s wotsits? What do I want in life, and what am I willing to sell to get it?

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GriddleOctopus

There are few harder things in life than introducing yourself, especially in print where mellifluous nuance can turn to indulgent wankery. So. I am definitely a 'writer'. You could also call me an 'artist'. I could probably put the words 'designer' and 'consultant' here too, but they feel crass.

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