Fitzrovia. 1991.
My boss at my first London job is showing me around. “Lou’s in there,” she says, pointing to double doors. I picture Lou Grant – a gruffster with a heart of gold – waiting to critique my work.
A bit later, I ask, “Where is the ladies’ bathroom?”
She pointedly points: “Through. Those. Doors.”
And it clicks. Loo. Not Lou. And definitely not ‘bathroom’.
It was my Mary Tyler Moore moment, small town girl meets big city – fortunately in Cool Britannia instead of cold Minneapolis. There were many misunderstandings and misspelled – or misspelt – words to come.