I'm at the check-out at Ikea, being cheered on by a pair lovely (and exceedingly patient) ladies in the (quite long) queue behind me, as I try to unpack my trolley (which seems to have turned into a giant Jenga game) onto the check-out conveyor belt thingy, which is frankly laughably short. I mean, this is Ikea, for Christ's sake, and the check-out is so small you can't even fit the inevitable accidental house plant purchase on it.
I actually don't really like Ikea very much, and in a previous life I will admit I spent a lot of time bitching about its nasty, characterless, flat pack furniture.
But in this life, with house move number two of the year looming, and with not much more than a pot to p*ss in, needs must... and where else can you find six glasses for a couple of quid and two frying pans for a fiver?
So I took the list from my last blog, gritted my teeth and headed off to the branch in Nottingham this weekend. And I have to say, I got all my household bits and bobs, including unaccounted-for things like a wok and bathroom bin, well within my budget. Thank you Ikea.
But I have to say, it was pretty much like a modern-day Challenge Anika. Ikea really is meant for couples. It's the old cliche.... you go to Ikea with your partner when you're in need of a good argument. But as a sole shopper, it soon turns into a bit of a nightmare.
The shopping trollies they give you really aren't big enough, and mine was soon so full that I couldn't even see over the top of it. I nearly flattened several small children on my way round that weird, claustrophobic, Ikea one-way system, forgot to pick up my kitchen bin lid because I got myself into such a fluster, and by the time I reached the check-out my patience was wearing thin.
"I need an ironing board," I told the girl at the till. "I didn't see one on my way round."
"You missed it," came the bored reply. "It's back in aisle five million and fifty eight."
I peeped over the top of my trolley Jenga and gave her what I hoped was a plaintive, puppy-dog look.
She sighed, picked up the phone and telephoned someone to go and pick up a £9 (£9!!!!!!!) ironing board for me.
Then of course I had to suffer the indignity of unloading the overflowing trolley while a bunch of other shoppers spectated and the bored cashier checked it all out and piled it up at the other side. Because apparently, at Ikea, there is no one to help you. Not like at Tesco where they ask you if you need any help packing up your shopping, when all you've bought is a packet of chewing gum.
As I trotted my empty trolley round to the other side of the till and started re-packing it, I could see the interest mounting with my fellow shoppers. Will she get it all back in again? Is that bin going to balance on top of that pan? I bet that cushion is going to fall off half way to the car park. And oh hell, where is she going to put the ironing board? I'm surprised they didn't start up a sweepstake.
Gingerly I grappled the trolley out to the car park, and then realised that I probably was going to lose the cushions half way to the car. It was time to give up trying to go it alone and call in some help. Luckily a friendly lady was waiting by the loading bays with her own trolley, having sent her husband (yes apparently they can be useful sometimes) off to pick up the car, so she offered to watch my trolley while I went to do the same.
Phew! Not an experience to be repeated again in a hurry, but at least it was cheap and cheerful, so I'll say a grudging thank you to the Swedes.
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