Tired of living alone in sub-zero Berlin, Derek Scally decided to order in a roomie. But for a strong silent type, Paul makes a lot of noise.
I can't take my new roommate anywhere. His name is Paul, he's 25 - and he's stuck to my living-room wall. Paul is the latest must-have for those of us who live on our own but wouldn't mind a bit of silent company. He's one model in a range of "Singles Wallpaper" and arrived last week in a cardboard tube. I unrolled him and hung him on my living room wall. Now every time I walk into the room he's there, leering at me from his armchair.
I embarked on this experiment in living when I returned to my empty Berlin apartment after Christmas. I may live alone, but in this city I'm certainly not alone in doing so. One in three Berliners, more than one million people, live on their own, according to the last census.
There's ample two- and three-room apartments with 12-foot ceilings and hardwood floors for €500 a month including bills. In Berlin there's a real alternative to flat-shares: no bathroom queues, no my-milk-your-milk nonsense and no loud music that isn't your own.
But Berlin can be a depressing place at this time of the year. The sky is perpetually grey and the thermometer rarely stirs over zero until late April. The place can get you down and, in the last weeks, I was starting to feel like Shirley Valentine, the lonely Liverpudlian housewife with a habit of talking to the wall.
With the Singles Wallpaper, at least I could put a face on the wall. Isn't that right, Wall? As roommates go, I really can't complain about Paul. He keeps to himself and doesn't make a mess but since he's arrived I've never seen him go to bed and he always has a beer bottle in his hand. I don't have a problem with insomniac alcoholics, though, once the rent's paid on time.
It's odd having Paul watching me. I remember a few years ago reading about how life-size cutouts of Mike "Winning Streak" Murphy were having a curious side-effect in newsagents around the country. The grinning Mr M was, it seems, putting would-be birthday card shoplifters off their game.
I know how they feel: since Paul moved in, I haven't stolen a thing from my living room, not even that nice silver ashtray I've had my eye on. Paul's certainly more effective at keeping me in line than the huge "Cat in the Hat" cut-out my brother keeps.
To make my experiment in living even more interesting, I decide to order Nie Wieder Allein (Never Alone Again). It sounds like a self-help book for the desperate but is in fact a CD filled with the sounds of someone - that's Paul to me - doing everyday household chores.
To get the full benefit, I decide to programme my stereo to switch on in the morning and play the CD to wake me up. Next morning, I am jolted from my sleep at some ungodly hour by the sound of the apartment door slamming. I hear Paul in the kitchen putting what sounds like more bottles of beer into the fridge and starting to make a cup of coffee. He could just take some instant coffee and be done with it, but no. Instead I hear a bizarre screeching as he foams some milk, then the high-pitched grinding of the coffee beans and the clinking of the spoon in the cup. I don't even know this person but already I am wishing him harm.
"Perhaps he'll pour the boiling water on himself," I mutter to myself under the duvet. But Paul starts to noisily read the newspaper (track 2) instead. A few minutes later I hear a bizarre squishing sound from the kitchen which sounds like he's either washing the dishes or doing something untoward with a turkey baster (track 3). Things continue in a similar monotonous vein for another hour: Paul ironing a shirt, Paul washing and drying his hair. Paul even manages to bake a cake for someone (track 6) in less than seven minutes. If he existed, I'd suggest Paul contact the Guinness Book of Records.
The CD still has a few minutes to go, but it's not yet 9 a.m. and I've already heard Paul vacuum the floor (track 11), type some e-mails (track 12) and watch television with a bag of crisps (track 13). I leap from the bed just as I hear Paul start pounding a steak with a meat mallet (track 15). I won't say how things ended, but let's just say the mallet came in useful. Paul's been gone two days now and I'm enjoying my peace and quiet again.
I don't think I'm roommate friendly, so it looks like it's just you and me again, Wall.