Today’s blog is to be about toilet roll. Since moving to London seven years ago toilet roll has been a bone of contention in almost every flatshare I have been part of as well as those I have witnessed. First there is the issue of changing the roll. There are the flatmates (this complaint has been made about the boyfriend by his flatmate) who just rest the roll on top of the toilet roll holder rather than bother to take off the empty roll and replace it. Annoying, but not too bad. Then there are also those who never buy loo roll. Furthermore, I have had first hand experience of those who steal loo roll.
Upon the break up of relationship number one I was evicted and had to find an emergency flat. New Years’ Day, as I’m sure you can imagine, is not a prime day for property renting, so I ended up living in a very shabby flat in the bad end of Elephant and Castle with a bunch of nameless illegal immigrants (and single). What a great start to a year. Such was their fear of being caught by the authorities, I was instructed, by letter under my door, to slide the rent money under one of their doors each month. In cash. In an unmarked envelope. Each time I opened my door to get a cup of tea or use the bathroom, they would all scurry back into their rooms and slam their doors. This did not affect me in a major way since I was at drama school and rarely there. The only slight problem was that there was no living room, so when a man who lived opposite me started stalking me and banging on my window, I had nowhere to go and no one to speak to so to hide under my bed and wait for the moment to pass. It was their toilet roll habits however that made me want to leave. Their system was that each of them took their own loo roll to the toilet each time they went, and removed it when they had done their business. I found it exceedingly difficult to get into that habit and was regularly caught short. My solution therefore was to be magnanimous and leave my loo roll in there for everyone to use. However, when I returned later that morning to relieve myself, the loo roll had gone. Not just the paper, the whole roll. This kept happening. Someone was hoarding it. Bastards. The old system was reinstated and I left shortly after, stalker hanging off his balcony staring at me intently whilst me and my mum loaded the car.
My current flatmate never buys loo roll. I have been leading an extremely busy existence of late and am rarely home before midnight at which point I cook a bag of pasta, mix in some mayonnaise, salt and pepper, wolf it down and head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. No loo roll. Ever. On arrival at an open mic night the other day (well done Gareth, you were awesome by the way), I headed straight for the toilet having come straight from work. It was like heaven. There was an abundance of rolls – different colours and sizes lining the room. Whilst staring in awe I remember that I have none at home and resolve to take one of theirs. I’m not proud of it, and I suppose it makes me as bad as the illegal immigrants, but by the time I got out of the night there would be no shops open, and I’ll bring them one next time I go (maybe). I got my just deserts however because as I was coming out of the toilet with the stolen loo roll hidden in my armpit, not very discretely but discretely enough to quickly dash to my bag and put it in, someone tapped me on the back. ‘Oh shit. I’ve been caught’ . I turn around, trying to make a face of pure innocence and it’s not a policeman, nope, its a guy I haven’t seen for ten years who wants to catch up in depth, the toilet roll all the while slipping down from under my arm eventually creating a cancerous bulge at my waist. I got away with it though, I think. Or he was too polite to mention the cancer.
Either way, the moral of the story this week is don’t steal loo roll. Not from your flatmates or public places. It will end badly.
