After two consecutive weeks of rain, chill and gray skies, this morning’s sun came as a godsend. As did J’s impromptu invitation.
After picking up E from school and dropping him off in his nanny’s loving arms, I dashed off to Trastevere where lunch among old friends on a dazzling sunlit terrace overlooking rooftops was waiting to happen.
J, F and I spent our matchless midday meal catching up on our cluttered lives, making merry in the blazing sunhine while downing copious amounts of fruity Pignoletto and devouring J’s delicious swordfish and fresh tomato spaghetti.
The conversation swerved between film sets, script notes, exotic weddings, acting lessons, our mutual colorless sex lives, books, religion, private jets, friendship, wealth, home improvement injuries, supermarket prices and grand plans for the Future.
For dessert we pounced on the sugar coated zeppole and the fried bigné di S. Giuseppe F had picked up on his way over, and J brewed a gallon of espresso in his 15 demitasse-capacity stovetop moka. As Jimi Hendrix sensually licked and bit the strings of his Fender Stratocaster in the background, the afternoon waned into an orange sunset.
I love my friends.