A recent child-free sojourn on a balmy November evening saw Myra and I cross the rail-line from bustling, boisterous Northbridge to the CBD.

Despite pre-Christmas office parties and summer weddings bringing out “December drinkers” early — you know, un-pub-trained blokes and sheilas in lurid Hawaiian shirts and teeny cocktail dresses, respectively (maybe), clamouring for bulk EXpresso martinis — the city was relatively quiet.