When pyjamas rule and shoes retire, I help warm your feet beside the fire.

If you're in the middle of cooking dinner, and your can opener all of a sudden stops working. Then you might be tempted to mockingly refer to it as this.

I’m reached by a ladder, a hatch, or a stair - a kingdom of cobwebs and forgotten air. I cradle old stories, in dust and in light. A collection of boxes hid away out of sight.

You can sit on me, and ironically, I am a discrete word for what comes out of the part of your body with which you sit on me.

Underfoot, it's lucky and round, Keeps the horse's hoof safe and sound. A symbol of fortune, for those who believe, In the old country, it was nailed with reprieve.