All right, all right, I admit it: I’ve been haunted by a dark secret: I’m a bogroll thief.
I committed a theft yesterday from my parents’ house. I went round to their house in south Canterbury and nicked two rolls.
My mum caught me doing it about a year back and now she’s wary every time I go round there lest I disappear upstairs with my trademark black rucksack and attempt to make a break for it.
“Stop stealing my toilet paper, you little s***,” she told me once after discovering their supply had been depleted.
But I can’t claim credit for devising loo roll larceny. That particular honour belongs to a friend of mine.
I went round his house once and instead of a standard roll on a holder attached to a wall, there was an enormous wheel of toilet paper sitting on the cistern.
He admitted a cleaner at an office he’d worked at had shown him how to get into the plastic covered holders which are screwed into walls.
The roll must have been 12ins across and 4ins thick with a cardboard tube you could put your fist through.
He went on to say that he’d taken another wheel of loo roll from a Canterbury pub by pretending to be a tourist and asking to use the toilet.
I can’t claim I’ve ever had any away from a pub, but why do I do it?
Well, I’m obsessed with having an abundance of supply. And as it’s one of those household necessities that is used constantly, it needs regular replenishing. So I’ve just got in the habit of pinching it off my parents.
Yesterday, in order to avoid detection, I took two rolls to an upstairs window and tossed them into a bush below.
Content with my aim, I looked up to see a mother and daughter were gawping at me from across the street.
Yep, this life is not without its drawbacks…