Two weeks in the suburbs and CC’s already found me, twice, standing about at home with what she calls my “desperate housewives” look. Y’know: gazing-like, in the stillness, out toward the horizon. Once I might even have been drinking vodka straight up. Except that, because I am me, it was water; and, instead of a purple Pucci-print flounce, I was probably wearing pink pyjama pants.

Two weeks without the Internet may have had something to do with it. But! Late yesterday afternoon a little excursion up the street unveiled the treasure that’d been under our noses the whole time. It’s quite possible that, after we found out the local Starbucks offers a wireless connection, we skipped all the way home.

This morning I am camped out here with the prams and the weekend papers. The barista has called out, at least once, that someone’s babycino is up.

I could be here all day.