Nobody Lives Here

I remember hearing a little poem years ago and thinking it was quite clever.

I now realise it wasn’t a poem.

It was a household census.

Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody all live here. I’ve never actually seen them, but judging by the amount they’re responsible for, they’re considerably busier than the rest of us.

Nobody is particularly troublesome.

Have you ever noticed that light? The one that’s always left on.

Nobody is in the room. Nobody has been in the room for ages. Nobody needs the light.

“Who left that on?”

“Nobody.”

There he is.

Nobody also finishes the milk, leaves cupboard doors open and puts empty packets back where the full packets used to be. For somebody who technically doesn’t exist, Nobody gets through an astonishing amount before lunchtime.

Somebody has a different problem.

Somebody is permanently about to do something.

“Somebody needs to empty that bin.”

Everybody agrees.

Anybody could do it.

Nobody does.

Instead, the next person performs that manoeuvre where you push everything down with one hand while holding your breath and pretending this has somehow bought the household another three days.

It hasn’t.

You’ve compressed a yoghurt pot.

Then there’s the dishwasher.

“The dishwasher needs emptying.”

Nothing.

I can actually feel Everybody becoming busy.

Suddenly there are urgent reasons to leave the kitchen. Somebody needs the toilet. Anybody might have an important message to answer.

Nobody makes eye contact.

Eventually I empty it, but not quietly.

Oh no.

If I’m emptying a dishwasher that Everybody has ignored, I’m making sure the crockery can be heard in Cardiff.

CLATTER.

Cupboard.

CLATTER.

Drawer.

Not angry.

Just making absolutely certain Everybody knows that Somebody is doing it.

Nobody notices.

There are things on the stairs as well. Not upstairs. Not downstairs. On the stairs.

They’re waiting for Somebody who is “going up anyway”.

Who is this person?

How long have they been going up?

Because that towel has been waiting since Tuesday.

And don’t get me started on toilet rolls.

There is apparently an important household rule that says if you leave one microscopic sheet attached to the cardboard tube, you have not finished the toilet roll.

Technically, Somebody else has.

Clever.

I was thinking about all this earlier while wandering around naked with my coffee, feeling increasingly aggrieved on behalf of Somebody.

Poor Somebody.

Somebody does everything.

Somebody puts the kettle on. Somebody answers the door. Somebody takes the rubbish out. Somebody needs to remember we’re running out of toothpaste.

I was beginning to think Somebody deserved a holiday.

Then I walked into the kitchen and noticed a cupboard door wide open.

“Who left that—”

Oh.

I did.

I’d opened it about ten minutes earlier, become distracted and wandered off.

Then I noticed my coffee on the side.

Cold.

I’d forgotten that too.

And suddenly the whole system became clear.

I’m Nobody.

Not all the time, obviously.

But occasionally.

Which means Everybody has probably been Nobody, Somebody is probably fed up with Everybody, and Anybody claiming they’ve never been Nobody should probably check whether they’ve left the bathroom light on.

I’m going to be much more understanding from now on.

Right after Somebody puts the kettle on.

Anybody?

No?

Nobody?

Typical.

Which one lives most often in your house — Everybody, Somebody, Anybody or Nobody?