Today wasn't great.

The Client was a bit shit.
My client liaison was a bit shit.
I was a bit shit.

Blame was proportionate. Which makes us all even.

I Twittered - it wasn't a great twitter, but it got a response - one response. A call from my roommate's boyfriend. He is a smart dude and knows disheartenment when he sees it. So he says those three magic words "Need a drink?"

By far, the most beautiful thing I've seen in days, was Willo: standing on the steps of Chocolate Buddha in Federation Square (I'd link to it but the site is shit) - a beer for himself in one hand and a beer for me in the other: him suited up to the gunnels in between. Blissfully beautiful, and much needed a) company and b) drink.

It was cold though - Winter is making itself known in Melbourne and after two beers we decided Kent Street was a better idea.

Trams being trams, a 10 minute wait for the 86 meant a re-evaluation and a decision to go to Bar Lourinha.

If you've never been.. don't go. It's already popular enough. I believe you can live your life without knowing how great their king fish is, or how the wagyu beef melts across your tongue, or how sea fresh the oysters are. You can probably live a most satisfying life never introducing such mouthwatering octopus into your mouth, or being treated to the weirdly textured but intimately flavoured chicken livers. And the service, so saucy, so articulate, so particularly educated. Lord, no, never go there. ever! Hear me? You can live without it - it won't be a great life; it won't be a life full of rich flavours and colours of Spain; but it will be a life, of sorts, none the less.