The Boy who cried ‘Bread Rolls’
by OWAIN GLYN EVANS
I live in a house with five other ‘men’ where trust means nothing and conspiracy is rife. Yes, in my house the inspectorate eye of every other house-mate watches your every move, figuratively lurking and waiting for you to betray in some way. Perhaps I should explain.
About half a year ago an incident occurred. Upon the opening of my designated kitchen cupboard, my eyes stumbled upon an object that should never have been there. It was a used Chinese takeaway tub, resting candidly on my clean cutlery. Had I known then the repercussions that it would generate, I would never have said a thing. Unknowingly however, I questioned the house as to which person has albeit jokingly placed an old takeaway tub in my cupboard. All hell broke loose.
Accusations flew. Fingers pointed. Blame was endemic. Some took a background stance on the debate, others at the foreground threw blame around the room, some were cursed and forever rumoured to be the culprit. The house was in uproar and to this day it is unknown, through sheer secrecy, which person had placed the tub on my cutlery, with one person denying the blame that is attached to him so consistently.
However, this was not the only incident; the deliberation has sparked a string of offences equalled by espionage, investigation and judgement. The past six months have seen items such as tubs, crisp packets, milk cartons, carrier bags, bottles, apple cores, and, most recently of all, bread rolls mysteriously appearing in the cupboards of various housemates. This ‘bread roll’ incident, I shall describe in detail.
Two of my housemates and I were making lunch in the kitchen. The atmosphere was pleasant and we were enjoying a friendly chat when one of the two in the room with me broke the conversation with a confusion that instigated an imminent witch-hunt: “Where are my bread rolls?” After a few minutes of exasperated questioning, he naively opened the fridge door to behold his bread rolls positioned conspicuously on his shelf. Uproar, again.
The bread rolls proved to be the catalysts for yet even more allegations and claims in a house that already swelled with inconceivable distrust. Suspicious minds and suspecting imaginations are a contagion like no other and soon the housemates who weren’t there at the time would join in with the debate. The most suspected character, often proven guilty of past trespasses, received a battering of accusations from a whole host of critics as he cried innocence with a convincing passion. The house simultaneously arrives at the contested conclusion that he was indeed the culprit this time, despite the desperations of his argument. The bread rolls stood by as witnesses to debate that put parliament to shame until the dispute cooled with the matter unresolved.
For now, a mild suspicion hangs in the hallways of 17 Strathnairn Street, a mere slumber until the next impending episode. The bread rolls go back in the cupboard, a relic of times past; a reminder of the event that shook the house. We can only lie in wait, until the next time…
But it’s all fun really.