Conversations With My Daughter #49

October 2013

Well, it’s another cast-iron childhood classic: Our daughter bunged up the loo with shitloads of bogroll last night while I was cooking. Y’know, I thought she was sounding happier than usual in the downstairs loo.

After the shouting (me and Sarah vs Alice, who seemed to think we were abusing her human right to shove paper down the loo), the stint in the naughty corner, and the tears/tantrum had subsided, I sat her down for one final talk.

Why did you do it?
“Because I wanted to see what would happen”
You want to be a scientist, don’t you? This is what happens when we let you watch Nina & the Neurons (science prog for kiddywinks with bouncy female presenter on CBeebies)…
And what was the conclusion of your experiment?
A: –Blank look-
What happened?
“Lots of paper and poo”
Look here young lady, we’ve all done it. I did it when I was your age, Mummy did it as well. Uncle R certainly did when he was a little boy (I can tell you that for a fact), and Uncle P is bound to have done it. I’m even willing to bet Aunty R did it. And Nana. And even Granny S when she was a little girl…
“Even Grandpa D?”
Oh, definitely.
“But he’s dead”.
Yes, I know, thanks for reminding me, stop going on about it. And anyway, just ‘cos he’s dead doesn’t mean he wasn’t a scamp in his youth. So everyone’s done it, OK?
You would’ve saved an awful lot of trouble if you had just asked me what would happen if you shoved loads of toilet paper down the toilet BEFORE you actually did it. OK?
” ‘kay”
Next time you want to experiment, it’s probably safest to ask me what’s likely to happen. Because you might get in trouble if you do it without asking.
You’re not going to do it again, are you?

Oh, JOY...
Oh, JOY…

So last night we tried to unblock the loo with no success as we have lost our plunger (probably in some other toilet-related catastrophe). We did try our best – I even donned the Marigolds and reached in and… yeah, well, it didn’t work. This evening, tired of seeing evil-smelling water and floaters bobbing up and down, I went out to buy a plunger. It’s a household tool; a practical necessity, one that you would think is readily available. Right?

Local Tescos: No. Local Sainsburys: No. Local hardware store (open til 8): No. B&Q: No. Massive Humungous County-sized Tescos a good few miles away: Yes! Not a very good one. Buried on aisle 40012 next to some chamois leather cloths.

The whole search took well over an hour, and I was detoured quite extensively due to some extravagant roadworks on the ring-road (which has had major roadworks about once every 8 months, ever since I started living in this fair city in ’02). Came home and wrestled with the poopy mulch in the bowl. Sorted in seconds.

I can charge my daughter labour, tools and mileage, can’t I? That’s allowed, isn’t it?


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