In an uncharacteristic and expensive indulgence of my physical vanity, I decided to spend large and have my hair cropped and dyed at a cooler-than-thou Sydney salon. My hair is normally jet black – with flecks of premature grey caused by the toxins in enamel paint – but I wanted to try turning it platinum. I was told to put aside the better part of a day for the process. So I loaded up a satchel with pens, sketchbook, diary, cell-phone, iPod and a non-fiction book (the last is just for show – I love skimming the salon's back issues of Vogue and Harper's Bazaar more than anything) and resigned myself to a day in which I would do absolutely nothing productive or creative. Bliss.