Just put the electricity back when you are done. They'll never know.
As students, we had one of those 50p meters. The little coin hopper underneath somehow fell off. I blame poor workmanship on behalf of the meter-makers. That 50p did some work. It sweated to a mirror shine as it passed through the meter like dahl during dysentery. On collection day, we had to go to all the local shops and get to generate about £20's worth of 50p coins. It was like the crappest treasure hoard ever. Then we'd bodge it all together with enough coins not to raise immediate suspicion. I'm to this day unclear how we got away with this for so long, during winter we were running electric fires in every room. Eventually we had to do a bunk owing to an epic mismatch between reading and reward.
Don't judge us. We had just cause. Righteousness sided with us and waved her mighty angelic sword. Firstly, our landlord, Norm the Milkman* had a son who was the epitome of scally so he tried to rob us about once a month, somehow never twigging we had no shit worth stealing, but was dumber than the average milk bottle, and also NtMM never fixed the big hole in the roof. Also yes, as you ask, we were somehow never short of a bottle of milk, since our back window opened into the yard where he parked the milk-floats. I may well be going to Hell, but that's fine, because I already have a second home there and that's my retirement plan.
*not Norman the Gangster, who we wouldn't fuck with, because he was the real deal, the King of Kensington and he had lads who didn't just hit people, they hit people like they liked it more than they liked their mums, and they really liked their mums. I've no idea why everyone in the late-80s/early 90s Liverpool was called Norman.