Hello, there. G Henry here, from
Goldfish Broth (that's the inevitable site-pimping out of the way), typing to you from the same place Julia does, with, I'm afraid, some bad news: your hostess is incommunicado for a couple of days, and has asked me to fill in with a couple of unworthy efforts of my own until she can return on Saturday.
And when I say "asked me to fill in" I mean, of course, "inadvertantly left herself logged in so I can hijack her site for a day".
I shall do my level best to approach one tenth of Julia's funniness but realise, as must you, that I have my work cut out. My words are not worthy to wipe the shoes of her wit, snarky brilliance and, let's face it, out-and-out sweariness. Still , I'm sure that if we all gird our loins, summon the sinews, take a deep breath and run really fast we can race barefoot across the hot coals and broken glass of my posting and come out the other side with nary a blister.
So here we go:
This, my friends (see, I'm trying at least to get some of the style right), is a spare toilet roll cover, I'm sure you hardly need me to inform you. It's knitted or crocheted or cross-stitched or hand-thrown or something (see, I lack knowledge about the technical stuff); but overridingly it is startled. A startled what, I do not know, and perhaps neither does
it - which might explain its enstartlement. That and the very idea that the modesty of a new toilet roll needs to be preserved.
Let's presume that it's some sort of pixie; here's where it might live, I suppose:
See how subtly the paper curls through the steepled roof, implying a cozy evening for our putative puckish family around their roaring fire of, er, logs. It's either that or something I would rather not contemplate lurking behind that jolly door.
Here's an ineffable something that no bathroom should be without:
Nothing says 'class' more eloquently than a satanic-duck-on-knitted-bricks toilet roll holder, unless it's a satanic-duck-on-knitted-bricks staring with evil exasperation at another knitted-brick toilet roll holder singularly lacking a duck. A saintly duck, perhaps.
Sticking with the theme of domestic creatures (and disturbing ones at that):
Enough said (and seen), quite frankly.
Finally, with 'literal videos' currently raging across the interwebs, I present this very humble meme - the 'literal toilet roll cover':
"Darling - where the
hell is the spare roll?"
G. Henry.
Maybe it's the freakishly large head. Maybe it's the freakishly small hands. Maybe it's the complete lack of the lower half of her body, or the unexplainable blue beaded tit she seems to be proudly and emphatically emerging from. Maybe it's because she makes me want to sing "the hiiiills are aliiiiive, with the sound of uuuuuugly." Or maybe, just maybe, it's because it appears the whole lower half is held together with large safety pins.
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