It's yet again that time of the year when the thought of just heading out - even if it's to stare at a less than mediocre liquidy chicken curry dish with a side of baguette with a non-existent crunchy crust and flaccid interior, forget about texture - seems almost better than fixing one's gaze on the pile of notes, taking up the space which rightly belongs to the lappie.
Like I said, almost. Back to the notes.
