For the third time in
as many weeks, the supermarket down the road had absolutely no toilet paper. Neither
were there any tissues, paper hand towels, soap, hand sanitiser or pasta. We weren’t
going to buy any toilet paper, we just happened to walk down that aisle; we have
plenty left for a few weeks. However, if the panic buying by the bogans or
profiteers continues, we will eventually run out. We are not panic stricken
about it, as some seem to be, because we have worked out what to do.
Back in the dim dark
past when our kids were small and belonged to the developmental stage described
by the phrase ‘an alimentary canal with a noise at one end and no sense of
responsibility at the other’ they used to excrete into towelling nappies. When
the babies were still on the boob, the poo wasn’t too rancid, but when they
started solids, the smell could strip paint. When we’d change their nappies, I’d
take the offensive nappy to the toilet, hold them in the bowl with both hands
and push the flush button with my forehead, so the chunky bits would be washed
away. I developed a slight circular depression on the middle of my forehead
from the flush button, but my friends were too polite to ask me what caused it.
After flushing, the offending nappy was put in a bucket of Napisan, a mild bleach,
to get rid of the remaining skid marks. Then the nappy was washed (along with
those from the previous couple of days).
So, to wipe your bum
in the absence of bog paper, keep a bucket of Napisan nearby and use an old rag
or towel to wipe the offending orifice, dump it in the Napisan and when there
are a few in the bucket, stick them through the washing machine. No bog paper
required! Nudists seem to have no trouble coping with this. On the Australian
Broadcasting Corporation’s ‘You Can’t Ask That’ last night I learned that
nudists carry a ‘bum towel’ around with them, which they sit on so they don’t
leave skid marks on furniture, and as some of these nudists were apparently of
advanced age, I’d expect that some of the skid marks on their towels would be
fairly substantial. This reminded me of an interview I saw several years ago between
Michael Parkinson and Billy Connolly, on the occasion of the latter turning 70.
Parkinson asked Connolly something along the lines of ‘what have you learned’.
Connolly replied: ‘when you get to seventy, never trust a fart’.
While it is easy to
cope with having no bog paper, it is even easier to cope without tissues. Back
in the old days when I was a kid, we had things called handkerchiefs you would
blow your bugle into. You used to carry them around in your pocket and, if you
had a cold, by the end of the day, you’d have a nice collection of boogs for
your mum to scrape off, before she put the handkerchief in the washing machine.
No tissues required!
So, while this all may
sound a bit 1800s, this will be a small price to pay when it is alloyed with
the joy of realising that the shattered hoarders of bog paper and tissues will wonder
what the hell they are going to do with fifteen years’ supply of each now
filling their garages. Serves them right.