We are both still suffering with this Hideous Virus, so we are languishing at home, apart from the odd shopping trip and unavoidable outings like walking the dogs and so on. You’d think, perhaps, that conversation would flag. You’d be wrong.
Coming out of Morriways the other day with a laden trolley, OH pushing for a change, the following took place:
Me (rushing forward a few paces, but a little too late to stop a large pack of Cushelle plummeting to the ground): ‘Aargh! Wait, wait!’
OH (looking at me sternly as if it were my fault): ‘Those toilet rolls are Errant!’
Me: Errant! Errant toilet rolls!’
OH: Well … well … well, it’s a good word! That’s twice they’ve tried to throw themselves off the trolley!’
And it’s true. There are some things that, no matter how carefully you balance them atop your carefully stacked trolley, will always unbalance themselves and try to get lost, or trip someone up. I wondered briefly what would happen if I took them back inside and tried to exchange them for a better-behaved pack, citing OH’s complaint about their willful nature. I decided against it on the basis that we’ll probably want to shop there again in the not-too-distant future.
We got them home without further mishaps and I’ve shut them in the spare room, but a part of me still wonders if, next time I look, they’ll have climbed the bookshelf or be found nestling cosily among the empty cardboard boxes and padded envelopes in the ‘Might Come In Handy To Post Things In’ pile. Or perhaps I’ll meet them halfway down the stairs in the middle of the night.
Maybe that’s why public toilets have theirs locked into special toilet roll prisons and attached securely to the walls. They’re fed up with the damn things throwing themselves to the floor and going off for a wander.