The Grind

I'm back at work. That's right, I'm a-livin and a-workin in a caravan. (Or as it's known in local parlance, a donga.)

It's not nearly as bad as you might imagine. Ok, sometimes I wish I could just get off at Parliament Station, string my scarf around my neck, grab a reliably delicious coffee from The European and stride off down Spring Street to do my important work for the State of Victoria, knowing full well that by lunchtime I would be window-shopping, eating sushi and talking on the phone all at the same time just like an archetypal city chick planning an evening of drinking fine wine and watching foreign films.

But not often.