Oh the Joys of Ikea .....

As diversion from my recent existential questioning , intensified somewhat by a dodgy x ray result on the part of one of my closest friends and setting in train a series of emails on that above theme , the fiction of a trip to Ikea provides the perfect foil for the "what is the point of any of it " and " what are humans for anyway ? " and " why are we even thinking of saving the planet ? "

Ikea .... how I adore Ikea . Fully aware that this is not a popular sentiment , I get confused when people rant about the inconvenience of the missing screws , the backs of wardrobes that break when you lean on them with a screwdriver and the sheer impossibility of keeping one of their beautiful foliage plants alive beyond a week . Set against the joy of the full English breakfast ( six items for a mere 93 pence .... hold on , 93 , where did that figure emerge from , presumably used to be 99 but the recent change in the vat laws provided the reduction ) and delicious it was too , and though not for the faint hearted , ideal for those of the low carb persuasion . Had I not forgotten ( or lost in the depths of my bag ) my Family Ikea Loyalty card we could have had free coffee too rather than having to pay sixty odd pence a mug for that or whatever it was , sorry I forget , distracted as I was at the time at the excitement building up at the prospect of being one of those people with one of those wardrobes where everything glides about on runners and oh bliss , the jewellery and make up can be found in a drawer with dividers ( hundereds of little squares ) situated under the shelf under the hangers of neat creased suits and so forth .
For a minute or two as I polish off my eggs and bacon etc I am forgetting that I don't posses suits ( really ) , or jewellery ( much ) and ironing ... well .... I see D do it so I do understand about ironing and know what is involved in having such a well functioning wardrobe ( D has one ) .
My current arrangements run to a series of chest of drawers stuffed to the gills with largely crumpled and squashed items ( some rolled ) , mostly t shirts , sweaters and vests , vying for space with assorted household items largely unrelated to clothing but of the " where else would it go if not here ? Photographs , notes , tablets , dog items , stop . I cannot bear to continue . I was enjoying my dream of transformation and it is going to happen . There is going to be a transformation if it kills me . Otherwise what would be the point ?

As I sit here typing , my new wardrobe is upstairs in the early stages of construction .

In its various parts , and loaded onto the trolley , it narrowly missed castrating a pleasant young man whilst still in the warehouse . D lost control of things and the frame section poking awkwardly forwards veered between the legs of the man in front in the queue , standing backwards . He seemed resigned to his fate and admitted things were generally not going his way . Indeed he waved towards what looked like a king sized bed frame and told us he had already loaded and unloaded the frame from his ( small ) car , realising he had bought "the wrong one" . He had something of Brian the snail from The Magic Roundabout about him ( I liked Brian , he was one of my favourite characters , but I'm glad he wasn't building my wardrobe ) .

And then the worst bit ( or best , depending on your perspective ) , a massive attack of the giggles on my part whilst attempting to reverse the car into the loading bay . Memories of former occasions when I have failed to hit the spot always disable me at this juncture as no where else on the planet am I incapable of successful reversing . In our street I can reverse park on a sixpence ( should such a coin still exist ) but in Ikea car park , hey I always get it wrong ! I decided to forego the spot D is expecting me at and head for the one next door and then Whoosh out of the blue D runs at me like a rat out of a drainpipe shouting No , You can't park in that bay , that belongs to that woman ! ...... I am completely and overwhelmingly overcome with the giggles and although I try my hardest to behave I cannot stop . I am weak and unable to drive , unable to do anything except sit there shaking , there are tears coming down my face and I cannot drive into any parking bay for love nor money . Two children in the back seat of the car alongside catch sight of me and look at me in wonder and start to laugh themselves . It is a long time since I have laughed so long and hard at absolutely nothing ... and it gets me through the loading up of the various packages ( way too big for the space in the car ) . D glances at me occasionally , possibly wondering about the Mental Health laws .

At home , the Ikea leaflet accompanying the packages shows the wardrobe being constructed in its various stages by a large man with his shirt tails out , assisted by a smaller lady helper . He has the hammer and nails or screws and is clearly the worker . She stands helpfully by , occasionally holding up a piece of wood for him , always smiling .
I had better get up and there and see if I am required . Better stop tittering though .