On the weekend I took the Male Junior Cost Centre to the party of one of his little pre-school chums. After approaching the event with an attitude of let’s-get-this-over-with resignation, this ended up being one of those kiddie dos during which I texted Signor Seriousimo thus: “Suck-ahhh! You’re on the sofa and I’m here!!!”
This was the view from ‘here’.
Got back? Well this house has front. Waterfront, to be precise.
What La loved most about it, though, was that it belonged to the birthday boy’s grandparents, who bought it 35 years ago or thereabouts and have resisted the urge to ‘zsjoozsj’ it. It’s a real, functioning, working family home where children have been raised and where grandchildren now visit, complete with cork tile kitchen floor and much-loved, lived-in furniture.
Sure as eggs, one day someone will get their mitts on it and knock out walls, do a Candy Brothers makeover and deplete it of every shard of its charm. This must be one of the most beautiful palazzos in Sydney and I’m so glad I got to see it. And male JCC was glad there was a reptile show, so smiles all round.
Spotted this on the way home. Assume it has something to do with football, about which La couldn’t give less of a fig.
Enough twaddle and nonsense — onto matters of serious import.
Am srsly not loving this wedge boot phenomenon. It’s all over the shop in the northern hemi, so will hit our fair shores post the summer sales. La for one is unlikely to boot up for this trend. Do you think it’s inspired by the cankle? Ruddy hideous.
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Had some not-so-good feedback from a couple of readers on their trip to Ojay. Feel bad! But I am liking my v v v buona value Wordporium frock from there, particularly with la new turquoise neckpiece. Maybe I relieved them of their best stock.
A more body confident woman would snap a pic of her whole person, but not this one; not til we see more benefits from the salad days here at Palazzo Trivialista.
But anyhows, this is what I want to look like when I’m — wait for it — 81. It’s the incomparable Carmen Dell’Orefice at New York Fashion Week.
On the one hand, am happy I have something to aspire to. On the other hand, am depressed that I’m aspiring to look like an 80-odd-year-old, albeit a foxy one.
How times change.
La Trivialista 