Part of the beauty of renting a flat for the week is having some place to bum around when you don’t want to walk another step. Some place to read quietly. Some place to goof off with your kids. Some place to cook dinner and share a family dinner. Some place to pretend you’re all sitting around your own living room cracking up over stupid shit.

Some place to call home.

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* And I totally didn’t get Dave’s reference in Berlin that we could take the U2 to the zoo station … which is bad when you have insisted on naming your oldest child after Bono’s oldest child.

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