Left feeling flushed after a mat attack

AS we stood looking at the tatty 20-year-old carpet, my boss Peter said: ‘This shop really does need a new doormat.’

He measured the size needed and went off to the shops. Thirty minutes later, he staggered back with a thick, bristling piece of matting. Having laid it, we admired his handiwork. Then Peter went to open the front door. It didn’t move. The new carpet was too thick. Muttering under his breath, he pulled it up, rolled it into a tube and dumped it in the over-flowing stock room. He then had to rescue the old mat from the bin and replace it. after a few days of trying to squeeze between boxes and the scratchy bundle in the stock room, I asked: ‘can you possibly move that mat somewhere else?’ The next day it was gone. I didn’t know where, until I nipped into the staff toilet. on one side of the toilet was a large bundle of rotary garden airers; on top of the low-level cistern were stacks of kitchen rolls; and on the other side was the rolled up mat. ‘Peter, you’ll have to move it. I can’t use the loo without being scratched by that flipping thing,’ I said.

The next day, he said: ‘I’ve moved it.’ I found out where when I opened the wash room door and saw it balanced on top of the kitchen rolls. as I lowered myself onto the toilet seat, I suddenly became aware of movement behind me. The kitchen rolls began to sink as I sat, trapped.

The carpet tumbled to the floor, shattering the puny toilet roll holder on the way. The andrex was thrown into the corner — out of my desperate, and needy, reach. Then the mat fell on top of it. I did find a new home for that carpet: I dumped it on top of Peter’s desk.