I’m in the toilet.
Baby girl comes to check up on me.
“Mama! Are you ok?”
“Yes honey.” (I’m just pregnant) 🤦♀️😆
“Has the baby come out yet?”
😆😆
“No honey, not yet.”
Oh man. If only it were that easy. 🤣🤣
I’m in the toilet.
Baby girl comes to check up on me.
“Mama! Are you ok?”
“Yes honey.” (I’m just pregnant) 🤦♀️😆
“Has the baby come out yet?”
😆😆
“No honey, not yet.”
Oh man. If only it were that easy. 🤣🤣
We all know what a ‘loo’ is, right? And I ain’t talking about the nickname for a Louie, Louisa, or Luella or whatever other name you might shorten to ‘Lou.’
Rather, I am talking about the ‘loo’ that we use all the time, that we can’t live without, that makes our lives easy and hygienic…
I’m talking…
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com
This loo right there. The toilet.
So why the hell is it called a ‘loo?’
Well get set, because this potty business is fascinating stuff.
(Pun totally intended).
Firstly, the word ‘loo’ is of British origin, yet countries around the world have their own wacky nicknames for the smallest room in the house.
The Jacks.
Crapper.
Shit house.
Restroom.
The John.
Lavatory.
WC (for ‘water closet’)
Bog.
And with all of these insane names, all of which have weird stories behind them, one popular theory to the history of the word ‘loo’ comes from the cry of –
“regardez l’eau”
Which when pronounced sounds like ‘gardy-loo’
Which means “watch out for the water!”
This phrase came from medieval servants as they flung toilet waste from chamber pots out of second storey houses onto the street below, to warn passersby of the approaching excrement…
🤢
Yuck.
The second theory comes from the idea that all toilets were commonly located in ‘Room 100’ within buildings, and as the number ‘100’ and ‘loo’ look so similar, the word loo became synonymous with this room number and it’s subsequent function.
But for another likely term, we go back to the French. Again.
Because the word “lieux,”
pronounced as ‘loo,’
from the term “lieux d’aisance,”
meaning ‘places of comfort’ or ‘comfort stations,’ seems to be a rather fitting attribution, something that British soldiers may have picked up while in France for World War I.
James Joyce’s 1922 novel Ulysses first makes mention of it in the following passage:
“O yes, mon loup. How much cost? Waterloo. Watercloset.”
A hilarious ‘loo’ anecdote points to a ‘Lady Louisa’ who was the unpopular wife of an Earl, who found herself the butt of a joke (so many puns!) when in 1867 while visiting friends, two smart arses as we would know them today to be, took the namecard off her bedroom door and stuck it to the bathroom.
This then resulted in the other visitors jokingly referring to using the bathroom as “going to Lady Lou-isa.”
🤣 Oh so cheap, but so good.
Perhaps it’s the simplest theory of all that makes sense, and might relate to the fact that iron cisterns back in the 20th century had the brand name of ‘Waterloo’ within their British outhouses…
But maybe we aren’t ever meant to know truly about the toilet???
Of course there are many other theories and people will argue the origin of it, of which none of us really knows.
But anyway, all things for you to think about and ponder next time you’re sitting on the dunny.
😂🚽🚾🚻🧻
Is there a phrase or quote you want me to investigate?
Let me know, and I’ll give it a go!
(Is that bad, that I am up to 17?!)
Things that shit me…
Swimming parents who steal your spot in the change rooms.
Please, LET ME EXPLAIN.
And if you are this swim Mum or swim Dad, I HATE YOU. You deserve a bunch of soaking-chlorinated swimmers thrown in your face.
This happens more times than I dare to count. If I start to count, God help me.
When baby girl goes to her swimming lesson, it is at a peak after-school time.
When I take her to the change rooms straight after for a quick dry and change, it is still peak after-school time.
Do you know what happens almost all the time?
Breathe. Phew…
We walk in. Baby girl has to go to the loo, immediately.
So I put her change bag and shoes down. At a free spot. One that is a-v-a-i-l-a-b-l-e. One side of the change rooms is all benches and places to hang your towels and bags, and I pick one that doesn’t have anyone else’s stuff around it before quickly heading into the toilet with her.
I head in with her, because while in there I pull off her sticky swimmers and wrap her in a towel.
We are out in 2 minutes. Sometimes less.
And as we walk back over to the benches, I take a deep breath, knowing…
someone has taken my spot.
They are literally changing their dripping child into fresh clothes. They are practically in my spot, almost standing on baby girl’s shoes, practically nudging her change bag, and anyone else walking in would be totally forgiven in thinking that baby girl’s stuff, is theirs.
But the stealer of space is not forgiven. They have invaded my space and they and their child and stuff is all in my face! If I did go to my spot to change baby girl, we would be hugging (or I would be strangling them) THAT’S HOW CLOSE WE WOULD BE.
You haven’t heard the clincher, wait for it…
I look around, and there is available bench space around that doesn’t include my bag.
?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL F%$K????
They have room to change their child elsewhere, and these morons continually pick a spot where my stuff already is!
And you know what I do? Like today… I head over to my stuff, snatch it away and walk off… to a free spot.
FACE PALM.
I am at swimming every week having these knocked-around-like-Beyoncé moments:
The woman no matter who she is, will NEVER say anything. I should park my car so close to hers so she can’t get into her driver’s side, and just stare at her when she has to climb in through the passenger and accidentally lodges herself on the parking brake.
Not pissed much.
This riles me up soooo bad. And I know I am all glass half-full gratitude gal over here… but do not be surprised if one day you hear a news report and it goes something like…
“Chaos today on the Peninsula as a woman is pelted with swimming noodles after taking the spot of another in the change rooms… full details after the break.”
That will be me.
I have the most interesting conversations with baby girl, who is 6 going on 17.
She knows everything, and expects me to read her mind.
This from a while ago.
It is morning.
“Honey, why was your door open this morning? Did you open it?”
“Yes.”
“You opened it and then went back to sleep?”
“I had to go toilet.”
“Did you go?”
“No I was waiting for you.”
PAUSE. “Did you call me?”
Hands in air. “I was standing here waiting for you!” Indicates the door.
“Honey how can I help you when you don’t call me? I was sleeping.”
“Mama! You should have known!”
(Face palm).
“Ok, so did you go toilet then?”
“No.”
“Do you have to go now?”
“No.”
I give up. 🤯
Casa de Playa
39 Main Street Mornington
(Visited April ’17)
The reason we ended up at this restaurant on a Tuesday night in early April was pure chance. Sure, our intention was to eat out, we just didn’t know where we would do it.
And then, parking right out the front happened, and Hubbie had to ‘go,’ like immediately.
And so our night was born.
Dining at a Spanish tapas restaurant didn’t require much discussion or twisting of our arms though. Tapas, Barcelona and May, many many many years ago, was a firm memory in our minds, and had been the first, and one of our best, honeymoon destinations. We could rekindle the romance again, but this time, with baby girl in tow.
We were seated right near the middle bar, which was an expansive work of art in itself, that had copper pipes and barrels hanging significantly above our heads, which left us wondering ‘are they for real? Or a gimmick?’ Tiling against the wall behind the bar gave it that little village feel, and the suspended lightbulbs brought it in line with every other contemporary café doing the suspended lightbulb thing at the mo. I don’t knock it, despite its over-abundance wherever you go. In fact, I love it. People were sprinkled throughout the café, and with the front windows open and inviting, it gave it a real casual, all inclusive, spill-out-into-the-street Barcelona-style vibe, however it also left us cold on that cool Autumn night.
So to warm up, alcohol.
How could I possibly bypass a traditional recipe Sangria, after I had had so many night after night in one of our fave holidays destinations? And a recipe that had been passed down generation to generation, this I had to try. Hubbie, had a schooner of Fat Yak
The sangria had that distinctive spice, and was fresh enough to disguise any strong alcoholic elements.
After perusing the menu for a long while, and discussing it with two waiters who were attending to us that night (one a male, the other one a woman who appeared more managerial-like) we decided we’d order food and try it as we went along, before deciding what was next. First up on the agenda:
Smoked eggplant dip – charred Turkish flat bread
This was brought over, large pieces of toasted bread with a lovely and not-too-overwhelming eggplant dip. The smokiness was noted, but not too strong. The bread was a tad too toasted for me, you know, the cut-your-gums-on-bread type texture.
This soon came alongside baby girl’s Calamari and Chips
I didn’t really think she would eat any of the rings, and sure enough when she tried it they were a tad too stringy for her. But it was only another tapas meal for us to peck on, and kept us satiated until the next items arrived.
Croquettas – manchego, piquillo, mojo
And, the Pulled Pork Cubano cigar – coffee ash, mojo
Though we shared the croquettas, Hubbie primarily had the Cubano cigar, albeit one bite which I indulged in. I don’t know the ingredients even though they are listed above, other than to say the inside was soft. Likewise with the eggplant dip, they both had a decent kick of smokiness once again, which I didn’t mind one bit. They were both moorish.
After all of this, we were surprisingly feeling 60% there – what with pick at this, pick at that, nibble here, and nibble there, and ‘hey I’m almost full!’ But we had one more thing that we had to try, and Hubbie being a massive coriander fan, and myself having become much predisposed to it lately, we had
Charcoal roasted chicken tacos – grilled corn, quinoa, roquette, coriander, jalapeno crema
I liked the simple, fresh and quite pretty presentation, and it was just that, very enjoyable. It was a very light meal, and definitely meant to be had alongside other tapas, due to its small yet delicious portion. Herbs, cream and smokiness, alongside the textured grilled corn, all jumped out on the palate, and it was a meal I would definitely revisit on any other occasion too.
During the evening, baby girl only ventured to the toilets only about, say 3-4 times. Life with a toddler, you just need to take them seriously every time they say they have to go. But, it wasn’t so much an issue. Hubbie had told us to use the upstairs toilets, (remember his early visit?) accessible via winding stairs, since they were spacious and so much more nicer than the small one located around the corner and opposite the kitchen.
This bathroom was lush, with lovely white and new spaces, a huge selection of toilets (you won’t be left wanting here), luxury hand-wash products, and one of those airplane sounding hand dryers that scares the beejesus out of small babies, but is way too much fun for a 3 year-old toddler.
Anyway, in amongst all this, I had looked at the menu way in advance, and decided almost from the moment we left home (I know we didn’t even know where we were going, right?) that we were GOING TO HAVE FOR DESSERT:
Churros – 54% Valrhona chocolate, Vespa’s crème catalan ice cream
And shock horror, as baby girl and I returned back to the table after one such toilet visit, Hubbie had already started eating the churros. Without us.
Dum da dum dum.
Also you should know, we got some other things too…
Some short macchiatos, and a babycino
After I forgave Hubbie his slight in starting without us (but in a way I couldn’t really blame him – if that image of sweetness were staring at me, I would not be able to hold back either), baby girl and I dug in, however she was much more interested in her marshmallow and the milk and white chocolate buttons she had received.
The churros were crisp and as expected, and the short macchiato exceptionally strong. Baby girl also totally took over in the ice cream eating department, and I loved the shout-out to their Main street neighbour, using Vespa’s ice cream alongside the Spanish signature dessert. It’s so overwhelming, I can’t even handle the camaraderie.
Fuelled on milk and sugar, once baby girl started counting the 1000 tiles up against the bar, loudly, we knew it was time to go.
Food: 8.5/10. Exciting, fresh and different. A blend of international and modern.
Coffee: 7.5/10. Ahem, strong! I’m used to my frothy caps, and yet I didn’t have one that night because I wasn’t feeling it for the milk. Hard to judge, but it was smooth as well as tough.
Ambience: Very relaxed and cas, but in a trendy and upmarket way.
People: Couples and friends were dining out predominantly. Ages up to late 30s seemed to prevail.
Staff: Both our male waiter, and the managerial-like female tending to us that night were really lovely, but the female, more so. She was a natural and totally cool with baby girl, which always puts us at ease. They explained the tapas format really well and let us do as we please, menu-selection wise.
Price: $109.10 all up. Lots of little meals, but little meals still add up! That was for 3 alcoholic drinks, a kids meal, 5 small/sharing plates, as well as dessert and 3 coffees. Still, not too bad, and the quality was up there.
Advice: If the windows are open on a cool night, try to sit out the back of the restaurant.
When you go to the loo, venture upstairs!
Try the chicken taco (if you don’t like coriander scratch that).
Have the sangria (if you say you don’t like sangria why the hell are you even going to a tapas place???)
In a nutshell: Creativity, combustion of food, and fresh flavours make this an exciting and inventive place to be. We did the light, tapas-style meal this time, maybe the huge Paella to share might be next on the agenda. With the blend of Spanish influence with a modern contemporary taste, on the main street so close to Port Phillip Bay, this place is one Beach House that I will definitely say Hola to again.