If there’s one thing Greta Thunberg will pry from my cold dead hands, it’s my kitchen roll. Nothing makes me feel more grown up than having a consistent supply of paper towels at my (literal) disposal, apart from maybe paying off my car tax all in one go rather than quarterly or ordering the third-least expensive wine on the menu.
When I was growing up there was always kitchen roll standing to attention on its wooden post in between the bread bin and the cooker. However, its use was heavily monitored and policed, and I often found myself wondering if it was merely decorative.
Was my mother in sole possession of the knowledge of the precise occasions when it might be deployed? Or was she, like me, absolutely thrilled by the sheer luxury and novelty of having such a convenient and frivolous item right there in her own home? But unlike me, was she living in fear of her savage children swinging out of it at every opportunity and reducing it to a stark bare cardboard tube as soon as her back was turned?
It’s my understanding that abodes are divided into “kitchen roll houses” and “non-kitchen roll houses”, and then there are subsets within the former camp, mainly concerned with the attitudes towards when and how the product might be used. My mother’s home, for instance, remains hugely respectful towards the sanctity of the kitchen roll and I would be loath to grab a sheet under her watchful eye, especially when a tea towel could easily do the same job.
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Meanwhile at my friend’s house, a kitchen roll house complete with three children, it’s an amenity that is deployed with ease and without repercussion. This leads to a neutral environment where there is neither over or under use.
I conducted a survey of friends of a similar age and socio-economic background to myself. They almost unanimously either had it growing up but were limited in being allowed to use it, or they didn’t have it at all. However, all said they are now liberal kitchen rollers and so are their children. I’m sorry, Greta. We are craven convenience monsters.
Some years ago, I became a kitchen roll house. There are moments in adulthood where you realise that you have the means and autonomy to implement something to make your life more convenient and joyful. I installed a holder under the kitchen cabinet, and it is with great pride that I can say it has never run dry. I have something of a scarcity mindset around the kitchen roll. I start to panic if I’m at half-mast/half roll without a backup under the sink. I’m semi-frugal with its use. I’m not mopping up every single spill or, God forbid, drying dishes with it.
As a pet owner, it is endlessly useful for various messes, while there is no greater pleasure than rinsing a few grapes and using a piece of kitchen roll as a makeshift plate.
[ A very grand room and a piece of furniture I’m now bereft to have to live withoutOpens in new window ]
It feels like we’re constantly going back and forth as a society in our efforts to help the planet. In one breath, it’s all banning single-use items and ditching our cotton pads for reusable rounds, but then the Temu and Shein hauls are clogging up the resulting landfill space.
Most of us try to do our bit – I recycle, I have the reusable cotton face rounds, I attempt to buy local – but when I think of poet Mary Oliver asking, “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”, I’m afraid I have to say that it definitely involves my beloved kitchen roll.
There are alternatives. You can rely solely on dish cloths, which were the real grafters in my house growing up, while the kitchen roll watched on from its pristine perch. You can invest in some of the many reusable paper towel offerings on the market – usually a roll of eight or 10 light cotton or bamboo cloths that come on a roll and are washable after each use. These might be the answer for light to medium kitchen roll users because there is still that level of convenience coupled with the smugness of helping to save the earth. In fact, I might make a commitment to giving them a go, if I can ever bear to let my paper roll run out.
It’s especially difficult when there’s a special offer on that one that claims to smell like lemons. It’s my Achilles heel. I’m so sorry, Greta.
