reclines in the unruffled air, observes that it's not too bad. The city's white-noise behind, the endless emails up front, and, between, all the fun of the swivel chair - not too bad to be back at work.

I, Fist, would like - with my usual smirk - to disagree. But even I can see that the trusted sandwich shop round the corner, and the regular brand of bottled water, beats the holiday cafe's fish pie schlop, and an Easter of diarrhea.