The case for... Toilet roll dolls

But this is a guardian angel! Should you need more toilet paper than is left on the main roll, check under her skirt. She sits upon a throne of white gold. You can almost hear her singing: “I shall not abandon you, my love, to face the second-worst-case scenario in an unfamiliar bathroom.”

The question remains. Why place your bog roll in the bustle of a flamenco dancer or southern belle? A ballerina or Little Bo Peep?

Haters call it prissiness. An attempt to hide the logistics of our daily animality. And yes, the dolls are steeped in gentility. Is that bad? It is a foul business, the evacuation of your innards. The flushing of your giblets. God forbid someone inject a little playfulness into proceedings. Isn’t this what all beauty, all art is for? A psychological shield against poo and, ultimately, death?

The juxtaposition of prettiness and two-ply speaks to our duality. We long to be seen as beautiful, while knowing we sit on a mountain of spent loo roll. What the haters hate is that these dolls are crocheted, made by grandmothers. If Nick Cave did one, they’d be lining up to call it witty and self-aware. They’re full of shit. But we all are.

So, if you find yourself face to face with one of these Tennessee Williams puppets, try to see yourself in her. There’s more than one mirror in a bathroom, y’know.