Toilet trouble

So I warned you guys that I would fill the next year or so of this blog with news of the Manly penthouse apartment that we’re living in. I know you may not think it’s all so great but you have to take two things into consideration:

1. it is THAT great
2. I’ve been living in shoeboxes for years

So you’d better learn to get thrilled about apartment updates because I’m filled with them. Like, for example, today the apartment looked especially radiant dressed in the rays of the sun (although its evening Manly-lights-over-the-water look is equally bewitching).

There are only two things that I’m finding a little bit challenging about our new accommodation. The first is that we’re actually not sure how long we’ll get to live at the Manly-P (short for Manly penthouse, which I’m finding a little bit cumbersome to write) and the second is the open toilet issue.

Since we’re just temporarily squatting at the apartment while Mark’s parents look for tenants, we’re living a life of suspense. A bit like James Bond. At any moment a Russian spy could burst through the door and we’d have to abseil down the balcony carrying all our belongings…although that’s probably not likely to happen.

The point is that we have to be prepared to move out in a flash. So we packed light. One of the things we limited was food. We’ve gotten around this by eating various leftovers from the recent spout of Mark’s birthday dinners and lunches. The unfortunate thing is that we finished the last of them last night, so tonight’s dinner will most likely be made up of pickles, peanuts and a side of vodka. Not very different from my childhood, but then again I don’t have the liver of a six-year-old anymore* (i.e. if you have any lobster to spare, just send it to The Manly-P. The Really Cool One).

The other issue is the open toilet. In order to open up the space in the main bedroom, and just because loads of people are comfortable with this sort of thing, Mark’s parents didn’t put a wall in the ensuite, so the bedroom finishes with a bathroom. This has its up-sides – you can stumble out of bed and straight into the shower, the space is large and crisp and there’s one more mirror to casually glance at. The part that Mark and I are being completely adolescent about, however, is the toilet. Any time we so much as consider maybe using it we just burst into schoolyard giggles and then briskly walk to the other bathroom.

This is fine when it’s just the two of us, but since the other bathroom is accessed from the other bedroom (via a door), we are going to be somewhat restricted if we ever choose to have guests. That is if the Russian doesn’t bust up our party before we get a chance.

And I know that it may be a premature concern, but the constant presence of a toilet bowl in our bedroom makes it a bit hard to ignore. Plus I can just tell that sooner or later one of us is going to break our vow to “NEVER USE THE BEDROOM TOILET” on a late-night pee mission and our relationship will never be the same again…

* Before you jail my parents, I’m totally kidding.