It’s been 7 hours and 15 days since I made a regrettable and stupid mistake. I did something I once vowed I’d never do again with a woman, or, for that matter, any man, including myself.
How could I have done such a terrible thing? I feel so embarrassed. Indeed, after the last time I did it, I was so traumatised by my foolishness that I managed to avoid it for at least 10 Earth years.
I`m talking about going to the pretend Swedish flat-pack furniture store, IKEA. By ‘pretend’ I mean that I know the names they give things are not really Swedish.
Yep, I’m here in IKEA in Warrington, which was actually the first IKEA in the UK, evah!
I`ve been here for weeks it seems. I am following the arrows for fear of the death ray lasers shooting at me for not complying, and I’ve just been dropped the hint that the arrows mark out a course that is twice as long as the London Marathon.
But, I have noticed important changes. Wasn’t it ten years ago that the IKEA ads on telly were suggesting that people should chuck out their chintz, and replace all the silly doilies and pointless curtain pelmets with modern stuff? Yes it was. Yet, I keep seeing awful chintz and grotesque replays of that awful era. All being championed by IKEA. Huh. What goes round, eh?
Anyway, going round is what I’m still doing. I tried to connect with normality by sitting down at one of the laptops left on random displays. After 10 minutes of failing to access Google+ in order to put out a ‘mayday’, I realised it wasn’t a real laptop. Just a really good ‘prop’ in the shape of a laptop. It opened and had a keyboard and everything, except the keyboard wasn’t even a keyboard, just a keyboard looky-likey of moulded plastic. I wonder how many people have stolen these and then been very disappointed when they got home. Well, assuming they managed to work out how to leave IKEA, of course.
A few moments ago I managed to leave the showroom bit where there are lots of pretend rooms for victims to shuffle by. I have now entered the area where things are left in piles like in a, erm, marketplace. My head lifted and shoulder unhunched for a few moments when I noticed the lighting section. I like lights. But not any of these ridiculous fittings, thanks. Well, except for the one that looks like the Death Star. We almost bought it despite it being horrendously expensive. It was only the fact that it doesn’t allow any light from the lightbulb inside to actually leave the inside that made us think it might not be a good purchase.
I do like the fact that IKEA sells only LED lights, and has extensive quantities of the strips of LEDs that we like to use to give discrete lighting that can change the colour of our rooms at home. A bit rough and ready compared to the lot we already have, but IKEA are being evangelical about the future of domestic lighting in a LED stylee and I like it.
Actually, they are doing a lot of the evangelical environmentalism bollocks, of which LED lighting is a new poster child. They have switched off most of their escalators and travellators and proudly put signs at each end saying how the electricity they are saving has reduced their carbon footprint (We really have to grow out of this carbon footprint shite soon!) and is enough to provide a month’s worth of electricity for an actual Death Star. This forces people visiting IKEA to climb up things called ‘stairs’ in order to start the marathon. Bastards.
Hey, I’ve found food. I’ve just stumbled through a door without permission and I’ve entered the meatballs area. They have a sort of canteen serving food. Well, serving meatballs. Weren’t these famously horse-meat meatballs? I’ll try some anyway, the strange light brown sauce they force you to have with them might actually be a liquified heroin designed to dull the pain of being trapped inside an IKEA.
But what has happened to the yummy Lingonberry drink? It’s gone! Curse you, IKEA.
England's England 