Last year, I wrote about the rather baffling "Sydney versus Melbourne" phenomenon. I never believed in it. I thought the two cities both had their charms and that Sydney is gorgeous, fun, accessible for everyone and Melbourne is full of secret corners and fun bars and culture and sometimes, streams of people wearing the same scarf and walking in cold groups from a brightly lit oval to a warm pub, or waving their fists out the windows of passing cars.

But sometimes myths perpetuate themselves. Wearing our normal clothes, ie not a suit, Stew and I just tried to get a cup of coffee in Sydney. We were refused at Young Alfred by a waiter who apparently is the most important person in the world if anyone's been wondering where you mind find him. Apparently, at this cafe, you had to order food. If you had just had breakfast five minutes ago, that was tough luck. Please order a wafer with some goats cheese and a herb infused gonad covered in withered spinach.

THEN, we finally got into a place that wasn't Starbucks (I was actually tempted) and the guy said "Hm. Just wait there, we'll get you a table". He got us an unmade table which he plonked away from the other patrons, whose tables had tablecloths on them and who were looking at laptops. Now, I can look at laptops as well as the next person. And, if I wanted to, I could have a job that forced me into wearing a suit, daily. BUT I DON'T. And I shouldn't have to. And I like Melbourne. In Melbourne, I accidentally didn't have enough money once foa coffee (I had forgotten to check) and instead of taking me up on my offer to hold my credit card until I got back from the ATM, they said "Bring it in next time".

Dear Mr Waiter, you are an ambassador for your city and even if we stick to your bakrupt logic that you only serve rich people, I may be the richest woman in the world. I may not look it, but I have a billion dollars in my back pocket. I heart Melbourne.