Don’t shame me, we need loo rolls
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YES, WE’D run out of loo roll. Honestly. The cupboard designated for “toilet tissue” was bare. As were the shelves in Waitrose. It was like looking at one of those photographs of empty shops in the old USSR in the 1960s. By Sunday we were making jokes about using leaves and tornup newspaper (we who continue to read print editions have an advantage over those who get their news online because, when all’s said and done, you can’t wipe your bottom with a smartphone).
Anyway there was suddenly a delivery of loo roll, with no prior announcement.waitrose snuck it in, in the way that a film star is brought in by the side entrance, without fuss. Otherwise there could have been queues round the block and fist-fights.
As usual when my husband and I do a shop he does one aisle while I do another.turning the corner from canned vegetables I found him holding a pack of 16 Andrex and looking, frankly, furtive.
“We can’t buy that many,” I said. Normally we buy a pack of four even though I know it would be more economical to buy bigger.
“There weren’t any packs of four,” said my husband.
“It’ll look like we’re stockpiling or panic buying,” I said.
“But we’re not,” he said. “It’s a legitimate purchase. It’s not as if we’ve loaded up like those soand-sos on the telly.we haven’t elbowed pensioners out of the way or stepped on any small children.”
The woman at the check-out smirked. “This will keep you going,” she said. I closed my eyes. The embarrassment. Please let it end.
“You can carry it home,” I hissed at my husband. “I don’t want to be seen with you.”
On the five-minute walk – of shame – back to our house I tried keeping a distance between us as though I had no idea who this man with the huge pack of loo rolls could be. It’s like when you’re a teenager and you try to pretend that you’re not with your parents.what?that pair of old codgers?
Naturally – sod’s law – we saw two people we knew who probably wondered why I was walking six paces behind my husband. I may be a dutiful wife but not that dutiful. Would there be no end to my social humiliation? And yes, both chortled merrily and made an unfunny remark about panic buying.
After what seems like a lifetime we got the Andrex indoors and put away, out of sight, out of mind.
Next week: I find the last bag of dried macaroni in East Hampshire.
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MOST OF us go to films or plays or concerts with a friend or partner. But sometimes there is nothing nicer than going by yourself.
Last week on a cold and rainy day I made the short drive to Guildford’syvonne Arnaud Theatre to see a matinee performance of Bang Bang!, adapted by John Cleese from Monsieur Chasse, a farce by Georges Feydeau written in 1892. An actor friend of mine is in this handsomely staged production which is now on tour. Tessa Peake-jones from Only Fools And Horses takes the female lead.
The theatre was packed (despite coronavirus) and it was a lovely way to spend a solitary afternoon.you know where you are with a farce – doors will be slammed and trousers will be dropped. And it will all come out right in the end.