WHOOSAH

It's a hot day and we're cycling towards the Northern Beaches. We park our bikes at a parking next to the big car parking. Billie Stormzy asks me to tell him what's on all the road signs: there's signs that tell that horses are allowed, signs that say that dogs are not allowed, regular traffic signs and signs saying where to park your scooter. Billie Stormzy is, for one reason or the other, intrigued by the fact that some spaces are reserved for scooters and some for cars. I have to show him exactly where the one starts and the other ends, but he is somewhat annoyed that although there are clear signs announcing the space for scooters, there are none for cars. He says he hopes I can show him the latter when we return from the restaurant.m

There are a few clubs we still haven't visited here. There's Colorado Charley, but they tell us all their dishes are still being washed and that will take hours. So we walk on to WHOOSAH. WHOOSAH is very much one of the more party-oriented clubs at this stretch, with DJ nights and life performances. It also looks quite striking, with its black walls, faux roof made of branches and terraces decorated with dead birch trees. We sit down at one of the couches with pink, orange and purple pillows on its upper terraces, looking out over the beach and beyond that, the sea. Billie Stormzy wants me to read out the menu so that he can choose what to eat. He settles for a pizza first, but when he hears there's also applie pie, he instead picks that. I myself pick nachos with chicke. I consider having a beer with that, but for now ask for a mint tea. Billie Stormzy wants apple juice. 

Service is slow. It took a while before our order was taken, and now it's taking a while before it arrives. Finally, our drinks arrive and I notice there's two cookies with my tea instead of one. Being a parent very much means you are expected to give up the small cookie that's almost always served with tea or coffee in Dutch restaurants, but with two, I can give one to Billie Stormzy and keep the other one. He's still somewhat annoyed, however, that I don't give him both - apparently that's a right all children expect to be able to claim: the cookie is theirs. After that, the food doesn't appear for a long time. I'm fine with that, as it is a lazy afternoon anyway, and I'm in no hurry for anything, a feeling stressed by the accoustic Latin music on the stereo system. Billie Stormzy however, is not so patient and is getting irritated. I tell him he'll have to wait some more, but he tells me: "I am not very good at waiting some more" with a real pained look on his face, as if I am asking something very difficult of him. I probably am, given his age, but it is also funny to see him express that so articulately. 

A wasp arrives to check out Billie Stormzy's apple juice. I am somewhat phobic of wasps, but to not upset Billie Stormzy, I try to remain calm. The wasp first lands on his glass, much to his chagrin, then goes to the bottle in which it was served. It goes in, then cannot go out anymore and starts buzzing around. More wasps arrive, buzzing around us and giving us a hard time. Before long, three wasps are caught in the bottle, buzzing aggressively and fighting with each other. 

Food is brought, but it is difficult to enjoy it with those wasps flying around. I'm very afraid they will sting Billie Stormzy, who is running around the table and who I am feeding his apple pie. Billie Stormzy remains mostly undisturbed by the wasps, although he says at a certain moment that there are bit too many of them. After he's finished his pie, I eat my nachos, which come with rich sauces, nice chunks of chicken and melted cheese. They taste great and fortunately, the number of wasps decreases again. The Latin music has been replaced by chilled house music by the time the food is finished and I'm sipping my tea. I'm happy I didn't have that beer, as I am sure it would have attracted many more wasps. Billie Stormzy is having fun running around the terrace. At a certain moment, he decide we should move to another table, but I tell him that is not necessary. For a while, he sits at that table on his own, then decides it is nicer to be together and sits on my lap again. Interestingly, given that most other beach clubs around here attract a younger crowd and that WHOOSAH so emphatically presents itself as a party place, our fellow patrons today are mostly older people, in their fifties or beyond. 

Billie Stormzy is too restless today to sit on my lap for too long. He's running around the terrace again when I tell him it's time to go. "Can we pay?" he asks one of the waiters. "Sure," she says, "cash or card?" "Card," he replies, jumping up and down. She smiles and goes to get the bill. When she returns, I give him my card and help him to insert it in the device she's bringing for payment. I type in my code and he tells her we won't need the receipt. 

Then we walk back to our bicycles. He loves the fact that most tables of the different beach clubs we pass are numbered, and I have to read them aloud to him. Then, he starts to read them himself, much to the amusement of the people sitting at them. We pass the pretty boys and handsome girls of Indigo, as well as Colorado Charley where, apparently, the dishes are still being washed and the terraces remain empty. Billie Stormzy is now galloping while counting aloud in Turkish, which for one reason or the other has become his favourite language to count in. When we're back at the parking, he's still fascinated by the division between speces for cars and for scooters, and we spend much time exploring the fine details of this fact. 

Also on Breakfast on the Beach: Jump back in time to when I visited this place with Rihanna Gaga in 2017.