Born to Wear a Hole in the Carpet

Often when I visit people I look at their carpets and I cringe. They
can't see it but I can. Along the edges of their shabby sofas, around
every doorway. Just about every carpet I see has been worn down through
years of stampeding feet.

I don't know if you've realised just how much people actually stand
around in doorways. It's always the most threadbare place, often the
dirtiest as well, the first port of call for muddy trainers and oil
stained work-boots.

Maybe it's just that I notice it more. I always check. I look at it
from a completely different perspective, a different height. I can see
the grime on their doorframes, a grubby child's handprint smeared and
stained through repetition and repetition. I'm just on a different
level.

I live alone and don't really make much mess. I've found that it's much
easier to clean up mess as you make it. Wash the knife and chopping
board when you make a sandwich. You'll only have to do it later. I've
seen programmes where people let their washing up mount for days on
end. I couldn't be doing with that.

I have lino in the kitchen and bathroom. Just for practicality really,
plus it was here when I moved in. In my bedroom I have a cheap, thin
carpet that's been down for well over fifteen years. I vacuum it every
couple of days - I got a Dyson a couple of years ago for Christmas from
my niece, Clara - so I make sure that it doesn't get bitty. It's lost a
bit of colour over the years, but not so that you would notice it that
much.

The living room carpet is the one I worry about the most. It was brand
new when I moved in the house, one of the supposed 'attractions' (along
with the perenially fallow garden) and cranky heating system - I'll
never fully work out how to set that thermostat). It's a bushy, thick,
cream creation that has the discerning ability to show up every speck
of dirt and grime.

I know it might sound a bit strange and sadistic, but I relished the
challenge the cream carpet offered. As I said, I live alone, and I have
done for most of my adult life. I didn't even decide to keep the
carpet. I just did. It's definitely imposed certain restrictions on me;
I have to check for dirt on me every time I enter the room, especially
if I've been outside. Mud is the worst. Absolute murder. It made me
very conscious of where I go and what I do. It improved my level of
cleanliness and overall appearance.

Indeed, the living room carpet has been one of the great challenges of
my life so far, and my proud personal boast is that it looks just as
good today as it did the day I moved in. it's still bushy and thick
but, most importantly, it's still cream and clean. Not one patch on it
could be called threadbare.

I like to live the quiet life. I read books and watch the television,
mainly documentaries. I like the snooker and that Graham Norton on
Channel 4.

Another thing I'd recommend is simply to use the same cup or mug every
time you make a cup of tea (or coffee - but I stand the stuff, it's so
rich and makes my tongue furry). This way you are cut down on washing
up, but make sure you rinse it every time. You don't want to stain the
cup, especially if it's china. I was bought a whole china tea set once,
but I only ever get it out on special occasions. I don't want to break
it.

Carpets are my thing though. I always hate it when furniture needs
moving and you see that poor little patch that's been depressed for so
long. Even if you try and fluff it back up, it doesn't make any
difference. If it's been depressed for long enough it can take weeks to
get back to full health.

About five years ago I got my nephew to make a little ramp for watching
the television. He put carpet on the bottom, carpet side down, so that
the pressure would be relieved slightly. All I have to do is pop it on
a different spot every day before I settle down, just ever so slightly.
Then the depression isn't as bad. Simple, but effective.

The following year, as a Christmas present, they bought me a new chair.
David, my nephew, had adapted it so that the wheels had extra padding
and width. They took a photo when they gave it to me, catching the joy
and surprise in my face. David, the handsome boy, was stood beside me,
smiling at my happiness. I have the photograph framed on the
mantle-piece. 'There you are, Auntie Emily,' he said (I can remember
his words to this day), 'with this new in-house chair, those carpets of
yours should last forever.'

The following day, after he had dropped me back at home (I had spent
Christmas at my sisters) David went to see some friends at a local bar.
Later that night he was involved in an accident that killed two young
girls and their father. Apparently he was well over the limit and went
through a red light. He was hit by oncoming traffic, dying almost
instantly. Unfortunately the crash caused the fuel tank to leak. The
resulting explosion caused a fire so intense that they had to re-lay
the road surface.