As I sit here in the corner of a cafe on the edge of Hardware Lane, just near Lonsdale Street, I wonder if I have swapped a black banana for a rotten apple. It’s well into summer now, and I thought leaving the office for a break from the stale recirculating air and flickering fluorescent tubes would somehow revitalise me. Instead, my lower back still aches as I sip on my odourless coffee and peck at my day old chocolate muffin. I begin to feel like asking for a refund. Nearby, a young man, skilfully uses his IPhone at the same time as he runs in front of a bus, causing the driver to slam the brakes on and loudly hoot at the gasping man. He appears to be shaken but simply smiles and runs on, only momentarily distracting from the IPhone. The bus moves off letting out a mass of diesel exhaust fumes, overpowering the already tainted taste of everything in the cafe. People appear to be talking, but in reality they are forced to shout just to hear each other above the noise of the inner city traffic.