Just at our local cafe now: a runaway success of a place that has just extended out back to let in the light in.
We line up, the place is so busy, and wait to order our banana caramel cake and cheese twist. The cake is a six-dollar affair, like a muffin only bigger and more lush, with icing piled thick on top like a chef's hat. The top icing boasts three whole walnuts doused in a thick caramel sauce. The cafe wins creativity as well as quality-food awards.
Then, as nice as the eating experience is, I begin to develop a sore bottom, of all things, and have to go hunting for a loo. B doesn't think they have one.
I find a black loo just outside the back door of the cafe. On the open black-painted door in italics is: 'You're beautiful' as well as a 'm heart m' written in what looks like chalk. It feels like a welcome and I enter the black cell and draw the lock closed.
I sit on the clean white toilet, reading hand written messages in white chalk or paint or looking at myself in the mirror. There is a small, shapely mirror above the sink as well as next to the toilet. The hand towel dispenser is painted in thick black paint like tar, The walls and ceiling are the same and everything seems to be in style. Black is the perfect colour for a toilet cubicle, I can't help thinking. This cafe does EVERYTHING right, even the loo.
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