Bog Roll Battles (Clovenhoof: The Isolation Chronicles Book 1)

by Heide Goody

  “I suppose,” Ben glowered.

  “Apart from that, it’s perfect.”

  Ben could hear the dripping sarcasm. “I’ll make them something,” Ben shouted up to him. “You’ll see. I’m undeterred.”

  “Some sort of turd,” Clovenhoof agreed.

  Ben ran around to the front of the house and came back with the council wheelie bin for recycling cardboard, plastic and glass. He took out a dozen Lambrini bottles, and the cardboard he’d put in there over the last fortnight.

  “I could use those bottles actually,” Clovenhoof called down. “I’m going to rebottle some of my new Lambrini flavours.”

  Ben ignored him while he tried to construct a meaningful chicken house from old fruit trays, a ripped packing box, and several cereal packets.

  “It’ll never work,” Clovenhoof shouted encouragingly.

  “Pessimist!”

  “Realist!” Clovenhoof guffawed as the whole thing collapsed. “You know what they say about people who live in cardboard houses?”

  “What?” snarled Ben.

  “Nothing. Cos no one’s stupid enough to build a cardboard house.”

  Ben kicked the wheelie bin in frustration and it tipped over. Marengo flapped into the air in surprise.

  Mrs Cluckington approached, curious, scratched about a bit, then stepped inside.

  “Hmmm,” mused Ben. Well, a plastic wheelie would definitely keep the rain off them. And at night, with the lid/door closed and held in place by a breeze block, it would keep them safe from predators. “I’ll just go get you ladies some hay for bedding,” he said.

  7

  Clovenhoof gathered Ben and Nerys in his flat that evening for a tasting session. They stood waiting with a glass each while he poured each sample into a numbered jar in the kitchen.

  “I have some new flavours for you to try,” he said, bringing out the tray of jars and placing it on the table, “but we’ll do a blind test so you can guess what they are.”

  “Is that code for ‘you would refuse to drink it if I told you what’s in it, so I’m pretending it’s a game’?” asked Nerys.

  “What would you refuse to drink if I put it in a Lambrini?” asked Clovenhoof.

  Nerys thought for a moment. “Smoked haddock. In fact any kind of smoked fish. In fact, any kind of fish. Or meat.”

  Clovenhoof nodded, took one of the jars off the table and put it on the floor, out of the way. “Right you are. Let’s go then!”

  Nerys peered under the table at the banished jar, shaking her head. “Hit me up with number one. Have we seen all the pictures on social media of toilet paper hoarding?”

  Clovenhoof poured them each a sample of a bright orange liquid. “I’m pleased with this one. Yes, I went down to the big supermarket at Jockey Road and everyone was going nuts, buying the big packets.”

  “Selfish bastards,” said Nerys, taking a sip. “Oh. Weird. It sort of tastes a bit familiar. But not bad.”

  “I took some pictures,” said Clovenhoof, holding up his phone and showing Ben and Nerys the bare aisle and the scowling man with his spring onions and jumbo pack of toilet roll.

  “I’m sure I recognise him,” said Nerys, leaning forward. “He looks like somebody I dated a couple of years ago.”

  “Is it carrot and coriander?” asked Ben.

  “No, I think his name was Neil,” said Nerys.

  “You’re very close, Ben,” said Clovenhoof. “Keep going.”

  “Definitely coriander, with a sweetness that’s come from, oh I don’t know, peaches? Apricots?”

  “Ben wins the first round! He has correctly identified coriander and apricot jam. What do we think of the taste?”

  “It’s actually not terrible,” said Ben, smacking his lips and taking another sip.

  Nerys was busy on her phone, looking for a number. She pressed the screen with a grunt of recognition and waited for the call to connect. “Neil? Neil. Why were you buying so much toilet paper today?” She paused and glanced at Clovenhoof and Ben. “Never mind how I know, I’m betting you still live alone, am I right?” Clovenhoof was dying to hear the other side of the conversation: Nerys looked even angrier at the response. “I don’t care if you think you might be onto a sure thing. What if you’re preventing some little old lady from getting what she needs at the shops? You’re such a bell end. Don’t let me catch you doing it again.”

  Nerys hung up and took a sip of the drink as if nothing had happened. “This one is all right. I hope you wrote down exactly what you added, you might have a winner.”

  “Let’s move on to number two then,” said Clovenhoof, scribbling some notes. He poured them another sample.

  “I’ve worked out some numbers,” said Ben.

  “What numbers?” Said Nerys.

  “Toilet paper usage,” said Ben, “based on a careful person not overusing. So, for example, if we assume three sheets a day is enough, then we can estimate that—”

  “—Just wait a second,” said Nerys. “If you’re a man and you can just give your trouser salami a little shake, then maybe that’s possible. Women have an altogether different anatomy. Are you aware of that, Ben?”

  “I, er, don’t make this about me,” said Ben, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  “Well you just made it about you,” said Nerys. “You made it about someone who has a penis and is prepared to wipe their arse according to a spreadsheet. It’s you.”

  “Can we get back to the tasting?” asked Clovenhoof. “If you want some bog roll, just say. I brought back a couple of jumbo packs.”

  “You did what?” Nerys roared. “You’re part of the problem, you know that?”

  “I’m joking,” lied Clovenhoof. “Look, if you crack on with the tasting, I promise to make it my mission to solve the toilet paper crisis tomorrow.”

  “You would do that to help people in distress?” Nerys asked.

  “Turn a fast buck, more like,” said Ben, grimacing as he sipped his drink.

  “I can multi-task,” said Clovenhoof, with a wide smile. “Enjoying that one Ben?”

  “It’s pungent,” said Ben, “and not in a good way. I can’t even begin to guess what it is. Any ideas Nerys?”

  Nerys sniffed her glass. “This is going to sound weird, but it reminds me of walking past Nando’s.”

  “It’s peri-peri?” asked Ben.

  “Oh well done,” said Clovenhoof with a nod. He was impressed they’d got that one.

  “What even is peri-peri?” Asked Ben. “I mean, what is it made from?”

  “Look at the jar in the kitchen if you want,” said Clovenhoof. “So now you just need to guess what the other half of the flavour sensation is.”

  It took a solid thirty minutes of intensive bickering before they alighted on the answer, which turned out to be fig.

  “I guess my main takeaway from this exercise has been that fig is not a very strong flavour,” said Nerys.

  “I think we can all be grateful for that,” said Ben. He eyed Clovenhoof. “I’m almost afraid to tackle this last one.”

  “No need for alarm my friends,” said Clovenhoof. He poured an oddly murky mixture into their glasses.

  “I’m going to wait till you’ve had a sip Ben,” said Nerys. “This has got all of the hallmarks of something that’s going to press my vomit trigger.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Ben. “It’s got that undeniable whiff of discarded takeaway containers. But there’s something else, something altogether more … composty.”

  Ben and Nerys stared at each other for a long moment. Inevitably, Ben cracked first and took a sip. He made a long, exaggerated retching sound, followed by a coughing fit. Finally he composed himself and ran his tongue around his lips. His face told a story of someone whose senses were confused. He took another sniff, and then another very small sip.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but there’s something quite moreish about it.” He sipped again. “It goes very much against my better judgement, but if yo
u filtered out all of the bits then it would be a bit like a cross between really strong ginger beer and mustard.”

  “Not selling it,” said Nerys. “I don’t think I want to try it.”

  “No pressure,” said Clovenhoof, “but toilet paper crisis rescue plan hinges on your decision here, Nerys.”

  She gave him a look of pure venom and took a sip. “That!” she said with a look of disgust, “That is like snogging a tramp! A tramp who has eaten leftover curry! With a severe case of halitosis to begin with!”

  “I’m calling it a success, then,” said Clovenhoof. He scribbled notes onto his pad.

  “Are you going to tell us what it’s made from, then?” asked Ben.

  “Garam masala and piccalilli,” said Clovenhoof.

  Nerys pulled a face

  “You not drinking yours?” Ben asked Nerys. He reached for her glass.

  She pulled it sharply away. “Back off. I am prepared to lower my standards when it comes to alcohol.”

  8

  Nursing a garam masala and piccalilli Lambrini hangover, Nerys sipped her morning coffee and phoned the local company which had sold her the travel insurance.

  “Get Out of Here travel agents,” said the woman in a sing-song voice.

  “I need to make a claim on the travel insurance I bought through you,” said Nerys.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said the woman. She asked Nerys for the details of her policy. “And what do you wish to make a claim for?”

  “I had to stop my holiday early and book a flight home,” said Nerys. “I need to claim for that flight home.”

  “Oh, I see. And why did you end your holiday early? Weren’t you enjoying it?”

  “No. I was in Italy and there was an outbreak of the virus and we had to leave.”

  “You got the virus?” said the woman, aghast. “That is awful. Well, your policy does cover medical matters, including repatriation due to injury or illness.”

  “No, I didn’t get the virus,” said Nerys.

  “Oh, phew. Well, that’s good news. So, everything’s fine then?”

  “Yes, I am fine.”

  “Thank goodness. And is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  Nerys mentally stumbled. “No. Wait. I need you to help me with the claim.”

  “But I thought you didn’t get ill.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But you cut your holiday short anyway.”

  “I did.”

  “It sounds like, to all intensive purposes, you chose to cut your holiday short voluntary.”

  “Intents and purposes,” said Nerys, automatically correcting the woman.

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. What I am saying is that I was forced, literally forced by the Italian authorities to buy another plane ticket to fly home to escape the virus.”

  “Forced you, did they?” said the travel agent. “Actually forced you?”

  “We had no choice,” said Nerys. She was sticking to her guns on this one, convinced that she was definitely being the reasonable one.

  “Well,” said the woman with a deep sigh, “I will have to check this out with the insurance company and see if your policy covers you for this. But I’m going to go out on a whim here and say I don’t like your chance.”

  “Limb.”

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s ‘go out on a limb.’”

  “I don’t know what you’re referring to,” said the woman. “Call back after the weekend and I’ll have an answer for you.”

  9

  Clovenhoof set about implementing his plan for addressing the toilet paper crisis. He picked up the phone and called his old girlfriend Maude. Whilst they were no longer together, he was confident that she still had a soft spot for him.

  “What do you want Jeremy?” said Maud with a sigh. “My life has been so much calmer since I stopped spending time with you.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” said Clovenhoof.

  “I thought you were a married man now.”

  “I am. Can’t say I’ve noticed the difference yet. I’ve got a business proposition to put to you. You’re going to love it. You know the knitting thing that you do?”

  “Knitting thing?”

  “It is knitting isn’t it? When you make things out of wool?”

  “That would be knitting. Or crochet.”

  “Hey, I’m an open-minded guy. Either is fine. How many friends do you have who do knitting and crochet?”

  “Quite a few if I include the people who go to Knit and Natter.”

  “That’s a group, right?” said Clovenhoof. “Isn’t there a group for crochet as well?”

  “The crochet people come to the same group, there just isn’t a catchy name that you can make from crochet.”

  “They’re just not trying hard enough! There must be all sorts of possibilities. What about Crochet Away?”

  “Well, there is a group called the Happy Hookers, but they’re over towards Lichfield, and I always secretly suspected that they might be swingers or something.”

  “Cool. Road trip then?”

  “Jeremy, where are you going with all of this?”

  “The country is in crisis, and I need a band of volunteers to address it.”

  “Interesting. What are these volunteers going to do?” asked Maude.

  “They are going to knit toilet paper for the people of Sutton Coldfield.”

  Clovenhoof listened to the extended silence coming down the telephone line. Maude was undoubtedly stuck for words to describe his brilliance. “Can you get them all to meet tonight at the Boldmere Oak? I’ll explain the plan.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Maude her voice weak with what might have been admiration.

  10

  Clovenhoof entered Ben’s flat. “You coming over to the Boldmere Oak today to see my— What the hell are you watching, Kitchen?”

  On Ben’s computer screen, hens pecked about on the lawn around the open lid of their wheelie bin home.

  “It’s my chickens,” said Ben. “Look, Marengo is searching for worms.”

  “I can see it’s your chickens,” said Clovenhoof. “I meant, what are they doing on your computer? Have you started filming them? Are you putting illicit chicken videos on the internet? Is that some of elaborate chicken-based snuff movie?”

  “It’s footage from my security cameras,” Ben explained patiently. “I’m studying them so I can better understand their behaviour.” He lifted up a heavy hardback book entitled Poultry Keeping for Profit and Pleasure that was open on the surface.

  Clovenhoof shook his head. “Can’t afford a proper house for them but you can afford security cameras.”

  “It’s the old ones from my shop. I’ve got four of them set up, three outside their house and one inside. Battery operated and web-enabled. That way I can look out for any foxes or, dare I say, egg thieves.”

  “Are egg thieves a thing?”

  “Maybe.”

  Clovenhoof leaned over and flicked from camera to camera. “This is quite good.”

  “They’re really good cameras. Only problem with them at the shop was they’re accessed through an unsecured website, so if anyone wanted to see what was on them, they could.”

  “Were you worried about book voyeurs getting off watching your empty book shop.”

  “I was concerned that maybe a gang of book thieves might be studying the footage to plan a heist.”

  “Book thieves?” said Clovenhoof. “Like egg thieves?”

  “Hey, I don’t know what people like to steal.”

  “Laptops, credit cards, the vital organs of the unwary. Aren’t you worried this footage is going to be studied by international egg thieves?”

  Ben grunted cynically, but flicked to another window to check on the number of viewers watching the footage anyway. “Don’t see anyone logging on to watch MyCameraBenMyBirds, no.”

  “Ben slashes my birds,” sneered Clovenhoof. “Now that is some niche p
orn. Come on. It’s pub time.”

  “What’s happening at the pub?”

  “A toilet roll revolution, my man.”

  11

  Clovenhoof was impressed to see his septuagenarian ex-girlfriend Maude had rounded up about twenty volunteers. Nerys had also come along, as well as Ben.

  Lennox hummed a tune behind the bar as he polished glasses, delighted to see so many customers in a week when people had been mostly stopping at home.

  Clovenhoof stood and addressed the crowd. “I’m delighted to see so many people prepared to help in the current crisis. My friend Ben has run the numbers, and they have been adjusted by Nerys here. The conclusion was that an ideal arrangement for reusable toilet paper would be a neat pile of ten re-useable wipes, something like this.” He held up a paper template. It was slightly smaller than a sheet of toilet paper and triangular. “You’ll see that we’ve taken the radical decision to reshape the classic arse-wiping design. This is thought to be more ergonomic.”

  A hand shot up. “What type of yarn are you suggesting we use?”

  “That would be a question for our knitting and crochet consultant, Maude.” Clovenhoof swept a hand across, inviting Maude to stand.

  She rose to her feet, clinking. Her outfit today was constructed from an old shower curtain, with hoops still attached.

  “Natural fibres are our friend,” said Maude. “I recommend a smooth, lightweight cotton, as most woollen fabrics can’t take a hot wash, and they are likely to be too scratchy for people’s, erm, tastes.”

  “Thanks Maude. We will circulate a knitting pattern, though of course many of you won’t need that, as I’m told this is fairly straightforward.”

  “Are we seriously suggesting that we wipe our bums with a knitted triangle, then wash it and use it again?” asked a younger woman at the back.

  “Yes,” said Clovenhoof. “A simple solution that will not be prone to supply problems.”

  “Except people won’t like the idea of keeping poo-smeared triangles in their houses,” said the woman.

  “I recommend a bucket with a lid,” said Maude. “It’s how we used to handle nappies when they were washable. This is exactly the same thing.”