Lately I’ve taken to eating my clothes.

Well, not all my clothes, mostly just my shirts, so the title of this piece is a gross injustice. Ok, I’ll admit that I do occasionally have a mouthful of trousers but I wouldn’t say it was every day. Socks don’t even count as clothes so I’ll chew on those whenever I get the chance. Actually now I come to think of it I also eat fleeces, vests, pyjamas, hats, scarves, gloves and shoes. But that’s it. Definitely nothing else.

Unless you count nappies. I don’t even like nappies, all that urine-soaked silica gel stuff tastes bleeaahhh!.. and it’s terribly difficult to get out of your mouth once it’s in there, but I just can’t resist the texture when you yank on a good handful and the thing explodes in a fountain of sticky gel crystals. Wonderful stuff. And surprisingly difficult to get off a wooden floor.

Anyway, the clothes thing is relatively new, at least on this scale. I’ve always been partial to a bit of nibbling but recently I’ve realised just how insubstantial a lot of modern clothing is (no doubt attributable to economies of scale and the exploitation of the Asian workforce, but as people keep reminding me I’m ‘special needs’, so wouldn’t know anything about that) and I can quite easily rip a shirt completely in half. Trousers are certainly more difficult but with a bit of effort you can usually get them to tear all the way up the seam of one leg. Sometimes they’ll put a hoody on me in the belief that I won’t be able to tear through something that thick. BIG mistake. I just regard it as a challenge and it makes their clothing bill much more expensive.

I do feel a little guilty about this: clothes aren’t cheap, Frowny and Smiley aren’t exactly rolling in cash and having to replace an average of a whole outfit each day must add up. Especially when they’ve taken the time to choose clothes for me. They quite like all this matchy-matchy stuff and I suppose I really should be taking more pride in my appearance at my age, but quite honestly I don’t care what I’m wearing as long as I’m warm enough.

And tearing up my clothes is just too much fun to resist; if you’ve never tried it you should… the sense of freedom and liberation is joyous.

In truth I don’t eat much of it: I usually start with my teeth before getting both hands involved and giving whatever it is a good old rip. Sometimes a large piece of the material comes away in my mouth and I’ll have a munch on that. Thin stuff like T-shirts and pyjamas are actually pretty good. Socks aren’t bad either, and the stringy stuff that comes off a one-piece bib is absolutely lovely, though it does get stuck in the teeth. But when it comes to the thicker stuff like denim or fleece material it’s usually too difficult to swallow so I’ll spit it out.

I originally started eating my clothes when I was bored but once I realised people had started taking notice I’ve found it equally effective when I’m hungry or when I feel I’m not getting the 100% attention I deserve. I also do it when I am getting attention, just to confuse people. I’ve had a clinical psychologist ‘observing’ me recently and this clothes-ripping behaviour is driving her nuts: just when she thinks she’s pinned it down to one cause and effect I’ll mix it up a little and do it for no reason whatsoever.

Frowny thought she could outsmart me by dressing me in ‘sacrificial’ clothes when she thinks I’m in a particularly destructive mood (things I’ve already partially torn, but also presents from relatives), so another good trick is to leave these totally intact and wait until she puts the good stuff on me.

Now I wouldn’t want you to go away with the idea that my tastes are exclusively in clothing. That would be ridiculous and hardly a balanced diet for a growing boy.

I also eat curtains, furniture coverings, cushions, duvet covers, duvets, pillow cases, pillow stuffing, towels, bean bags, plastic mattress covers, change mats, lamp shades, tablecloths, car seats, shoes, shoelaces, rucksacks, handbags, tissues, paper, plastic, leather, rubber, toenails, excrement…