Today, for the first time, I purchased service-station coffee. I got out of bed at about 10am and realised quickly that there was very little food that could pass as breakfast. I sliced an apple in to small pieces and ate them slowly, willing myself to feel full because the service station up the road seemed so very far away, and I felt too weary to traipse up there to buy bread. The apple failed to satisfy me, so I slowly pulled on some clothes, never taking my eyes off Good Morning Australia (I love Bert Newton- he soothes me), and stumbled out into the stinking hot morning.

I realised two things as I ambled slowly up the hill to ParramattaRoad, feet dragging, allowing myself to veer from the centre of the footpath with minimal attempts at correction. Firstly, that I had forgotten to brush my hair, and that it must look something like the tresses of Medusa. (a quick glance in the window of the blinds factory confirmed this). Secondly, that I had run out of instant coffee, and that there was nowhere open nearby where I could obtain some. I refuse to pay top dollar at the service station for something as horrid as instant coffee. This lack of coffee was made even more painful by the fact that I have a stovetop coffee maker, and an ample supply of beautiful, freshly ground coffee from the classy beans roaster up the street, yet no O-ring for my coffee machine. (The last O-ring melted and left bits of itself all over the other parts of the coffee maker, which I scrubbed at furiously but failed to completely remove).

In the cool of the service station, I selected a loaf of bread (all that was left was Wonder White, so the choice was easy). It was then that the sign caught my eye: 'Cappucino', written in faux-neon-sign-cursive, next to similar signs announcing 'Sandwiches', 'Bakery' and other sad, service-station imitations of familiar foodstuffs. And before I knew it I was standing before the snappy little 'Lavazza-2-Go' coffee machine, reading the instructions.

It was remarkably easy. I shook a styrofoam cup from the pile, placed it on the red circle as instructed, pressed the 'Long Black' button, and waited. The little machine groaned and shuddered into action, dispensed a small amount of thin brown liquid into my cup, and then promptly went back to sleep. During the squirting process (how sordid that sounds) the machine actually leapt two inches towards me. They really need to secure it to the bench or something.

And that was that. The coffee was, of course, terrible. But, because it came from a vending machine, it was delightful at the same time. I do love vending machines. I simply must get myself to Japan one day.