This morning I saw a flock of noble currawongs feasting on what appeared to be a pool of chunky vomit on Victoria Road, my security code tripped the alarm system in the building, I missed the right turn to the Bourke Street Bakery, the contract programmer isn’t here and the milk in the coffee machine seems several days past its use-by date. And yet, despite a morose outlook and the indignity of working on a Saturday morning, it’s kind of funny being in the office in the same clothes I fell asleep in. The coffee cup is always half-full… of stale milk.