I was sitting quietly in the morning sun, sipping freshly squeezed juice, having popped around the corner from Mother’s Barbie Life in the Dream House Vaucluse mansion to Grandmother’s Downton Abbey Vaucluse mansion to borrow a cup of sugar and to admire her spring bulbs.
‘I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU EXPECT US TO PAY THAT KIND OF MONEY FOR THIS!’
Well, I might have known Grandmother was away in London this week. And by sugar, I mean a tiny Vermeer oil painting. And a minuscule Monet. Both simply borrowed, you understand.
I might not actually have been in direct sunlight per se; rather, I was laid out inside Grandmother’s enormous glass orchid palace, with hundreds of handcrafted hanging baskets lined with dazzling green sphagnum moss suspended from the transparent ceiling by copper rods, brimming with white Cattleya orchids. The vast polished concrete floor thick with giant ceramic pots of vibrant blue Vandas, pink Cymbidiums and
purple-blooming Phalaenopsis. Impossible to pronounce, but very pretty to look at.
And by juice, I mean a caipiroska. Which is full of lime juice…
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