We're so glad that the saga of the potty ended well...

(disclaimer: in the following post there may be some potty humour; 

if that's not your cup of tea then run far far away)

   Yes, the potty...that essential of all essentials on a trip with anyone under (possibly even over) the age of five. No need for middle of the night trips half way across the caravan park, or walks to an inadequately lit long drop, or worst of all the dreaded 'bush wee' in the pouring rain!
   
   I know that you males out there are thinking 'what's the problem with all of the above' but females are nodding their heads in agreement and thinking 'that's why we're never travelling around Australia'.
   
   Well, here's the solution...

   Yes, the heirloom potty passed down generations (perhaps just one generation! - thank you Mrs Wong and Mrs Woodley Jnr), and capable of managing all of our childrens' evening, nighttime and morning ablutions if needed...enough singing praises, to the point of this tragic saga...
   
   After a month of trekking to the loos regularly to empty the potty and not leaving it there, I (yes, Renee, you can shoulder the blame when you should) left it at the long drops at the lovely free camp at the Fitzroy River mouth; and only discovered the fact when we had travelled all day and arrived at our new destination of Warrnambool. True, it was only an hour down the road, but what a thing to lose! Surely someone would recognize its immeasurable value and requisition it for their own selfish purposes!
   
   I knew something had to be done, so impressing upon Nick the extreme importance of this article (he was already more than half aware of this) I extracted a promise from him to drive back and search and enquire after it. 
   
   However, first I called the contact number we had for the Fitzroy River reserve, and was connected to the Portland Information centre: 'Oh yes dear, I think the people you want are the cricket club, or maybe it's the footy and netball club - here's the numbers.' So I try the cricket club first: 'Ah the reserve luv, yeah ya gunna want old Ted Taylor' [names changed to protect the innocent]. 
   
   With that number I reach the people who collected our weekly twenty dollar fee. 'Um, we've just been camping at the reserve and left something there (trying to put the invaluableness into my tone of voice)...well, actually, it's an enamelled potty, but we find it so useful, just wondering if it's still there, my husband is willing to drive back down and pick it up' - 'oh no darl, me daughter'll check for it when she goes down tonight and we'll give you a buzz to let you know if it's there. But don't come back for it - we're swinging by Warrnambool on our way to Geelong day after tommorra so can drop it of for you.' !!
   
   Well, suffice it to say, that it was there (woohoo!) and we managed to survive forty eight hours sans potty (which only deepened our appreciation for it all the more after countless trips to the toilet blocks morning, noon and night) before Nick met the reserve managers at KFC. Not knowing what they looked like, he approached a middle aged couple and enquired: 'Um, are you the people I'm supposed to meet?' which met the quite decided reply 'no!' !
   
   Finally, he found the right good samaritans, and after offering to buy them a drink the potty came home to be restored to the bosom of its grateful and relived family...




   P.S. This is the real reason Israel is making good use of the potty; after all don't we all secretly wish that we had pirate undies...