When the mind wants pizza but the heart craves a kebab.

This age-old conundrum has been plighting pissheads up and down the British Isles since the introduction of the first kebab house (1966, Stoke Newington, London) and the inaugural pizza parlour venture (about the same time, in the same city).

The mind plays on erstwhile mozzarella and pepperoni action, while the heart, the heart aches for saturated fat coated in a chilli sauce whose components, one might surmise, were pieced together in Beelzebub's back passage.

What to do, what to do? It's the defining Friday/Saturday/any fucking day dilemma...

Well, it was.

For now, the good people at my local pizzeria have concocted a quite tremendous melange of traditional British fast food.

Get this:

A pizza, and a kebab - presented as one glorious wedge of calorific joy, complete with flesh of a dubious origin, jalapenos, red onions, the option of chilli sauce, and tomatoes.

Abdul has just made himself a mate.

I'm off to the fridge. Only Stella of the Artois persuasion possesses the refreshing qualities with which to wash this fucker down with.