|Selfie, old top you've seen it before|
|My friend Monica and me|
|The Oakland house|
|Looking over to the pizza oven area|
|The owners are into punk rock and Chinoiserie|
|Their vege garden|
The pizzas were made in a outdoor oven at a lovely Oakland home, a 1920's Tudor remodeled five years ago using reclaimed 100-year old wood and employing a number of local artisans as well as others who flew in Italy.
For a moment, sipping Prosecco on the lawn lit brightly by the sun even at 7pm, I could imagine myself in a Great Gatsby scene chatting to my friends Muffy, Cricket and Charmeloy: "Darlings, darlings do come to The Island next weekend, it'll be desperately dull without you!" Frocks with a dropped waist and a mid-calf length do nothing for me, but I notice in the movie they've hiked the hemlines to above the knee.
Kevin arrived home yesterday afternoon to cries of relief all around and turns out he'd been receiving texts all week from my disgruntled tenants.
"Mum's so unfair"
"Mum's so mean."
"Your wife is seriously crazy." When he's really mad, one of the kids refers to me as your wife. And if you're wondering what the word "seriously" adds to the "crazy" (I asked in the past and was met with a pitying stare) it elevates it to a technical term that can't be disputed.
Something about that last paragraph is similar to last weekend's. Aiming for Great Gatsby and getting Groundhog Day...