Hey, it's Saturday. 9am Means Shit!

I could go an work as a writer in Cambodia, on a newspaper. Luke met up with the editor, who is crying out for writers. Luke just text me. All I'd have to do is turn up, pretty much. It's really tempting. Even if I did it for a year, it would be fantastic. A year in Phnom Penh would have to be amazing, even if Luke, pretty much, hated it. It would be pushing the boundaries, you have to say that. Something to open my eyes... and not just choosing the safe option, all the time.

What is it with cats? Do they have some sort of perverse sensory detector? I go up stairs and there is Missy, who isn't often in my room, curled up on my favourite black jumper, which I would never leave on the floor, this is probably the first time, ever.

My eyes welled up and a tear ran down my cheek as I read about the hole tearing in the side of Qantas QF30, and the heroic drama that ensued to an emergency landing in Manilla. We're all turning into drama junkies. Life is just one crisis after another, thank you CNN.

It's funny with these high profile drug cases. Those not familiar with drugs would gasp as chemicals with funny names were read out. Those familiar with drugs think, Well, he was having a fine old time, now wasn't he. Meth and K...

Ah coffee, the newspaper, Saturday morning.