In a little space wedged between two shops and covered over in transparent plastic sheeting, is to be found Laneway 73. It’s a most inviting place to be seduced into on a lovely afternoon in early autumn. The Rasilia coffee machine fronts the establishment and seems to be doing a quiet but regular trade in takeaways. Three tables and a bench down the alley and a few tables out on the street. Amazingly, for a seaside caf, The Age is available for perusal, along with other papers and mags on a bench. I settle in for a long lazy read, my bus not due for well over an hour.

A voice from the street—’Takeaway latte thank-you my good man, and could you make that a little bit hotter than the norm?’ Aha, puzzle solved. My l.b. was one of those tepid jobs that I’d encountered a few times in Bendigo recently, and I was beginning to wonder whether a few proprietors were following American style, fearing lawsuits from burnt-lipped customers. Coffee is Gravity and the only goodies are small (very small) over-priced biscuits—so small they should be coffee-accompaniments, not sold. But the ambience is wonderful, and secreting myself here, paper in hand, coffee at elbow and with the thought of a soon-to-be bus ride along The Great Ocean Road, is a delight I am quite happy to share with the gods. And the shade of Kierkegaard.