I had been successfully putting off a trip for several months, although I did acknowledge the need for some good cheap shelving for the glasses in our 'garden shed' bar. On a particularly wet and miserable November Sunday, I was settling down for the usual 'feet up on the sofa' watching the football. Unfortunately that particular pleasure was unknowingly to pass me by, following my son's 'stirring up' suggestion to my wife that I take her to Ikea. That was it, once she gets something in her mind and gets me off the sofa, I stood no chance.
At this stage I would like to point out that, along with the majority of the country, we do not exactly have a local store. It's only a nearly 60 mile round trip down the M4 to Bristol and back. Previous trips have been made only on the condition of a corresponding visit to the Moor Brewery Tap in Bristol which just happens to be close to the store. No chance of a visit on this occasion, she wouldn't fancy driving back down the motorway in the pouring rain with all that 'spray' around. No such consideration was taken for me having to drive both ways!
After reluctantly being forced to agree to go, it was done on the understanding that we knew exactly what we were to buy, get it, and return straight back. The shelving required was only to come to around £15, but I reluctantly agreed that it was needed to free up space for the installation of a much needed Keg line.
Unfortunately upon arrival at Ikea following a harrowing journey down the M4 'river' , it was discovered that half of the population of Bristol and the South West also thought it would be a great day out on a rainy Sunday. Hence the car park crawl whereby every car in front stops for an age in the vain hope that an 'under cover' space is going to become available! After eventually escaping to the outdoor section of the car park in the pouring rain, it was with no surprise to find that this was also packed and the only available spaces were right at the other end, probably nearer to the centre of Bristol than Ikea. But obviously with good humour and without the hint of a moan I park up in one of the few empty spaces, their unoccupied status could possibly be explained by the ever increasing lake that was forming beneath the car!
Nothing like a good wade through vast swathes of standing water, getting splashed by other vehicles, in the pouring rain to set yourself up for the anticipation of the Ikea experience. You can imagine my happy smiling face, with my rain splattered specs and dripping hair, as I board the escalators to the top floor to eagerly join the 'Ikea Trail'.
If, as agreeed, we are just buying shelving, why does my wife feel the need to pick up the dreaded 'yellow bag', I know they are big but surely a trolley is a better bet for our anticipated purchase. My protests fall on deaf ears as usual and I am already filled with dread for the 'market hall' section. And so the 'Ikea shuffle' starts, this is pretty normal in every Ikea but I think that there must be a 'wet Sunday special shuffle'. Whole family tribes do their best to spread out accross the aisles, together with pushchairs, in a bid to make the day out last as long as possible by walking at snails pace, stopping to view and try every bit of 'low slung' furniture, which they then take an age to extract themselves from.
The only alternative is to go 'off -piste' and take ourselves via the sofas, beds etc to bypass the crowds. The staff have obviously been trained in readiness for this eventuality, by strategically placing each piece of furniture so that there is no direct route and therefore you are required to slalom around each piece.
After successfully locating and examining a sample of the required shelving, the wife then sets off to find the 'Ikea pencil' and slip of paper to write down which aisle to collect from downstairs. Has she not heard of new technology called the phone which takes pictures? Picture taken, I proceed at best possible pace down toward the next level. Upon passing the cafeteria it would have been too bad if we required refreshment, unless we wanted to join the massive queue, then wandered aimlessly around looking for an empty table.
By now we had passed through the children's section and the yellow bag contained a stuffed elephant! I did concede on this as I knew the granddaughter would love it for Christmas, plus as a bonus, it was cheap!
Now entering the dreaded 'market hall' I try to speed through the crowds filling their bags with handy plastic kitchen utensils and cheap cookwear, with the only guarantee being that you will burn your dinner! This is where wives come into their own, they think it's compulsory to fill the big yellow bag with as much cheap tat as possible and maybe top off with a smelly candle in a glass jar for good measure. After all there are only four the same still sat unused in a cupboard at home. Thinking I had got away without her buying anything, she sidestepped our direct route to the plastic recycling box section. The red bucket that I fill as high as humanly possible with a variety of cardboard, bottles and plastic at home is no longer big enough! She wants to buy another black container no bigger than the current red bucket. Pointing out a cheaper, but much larger, lidded container I was duly informed that it would look out of place next to the fridge. Here I win my only victory of the day, problem being I had to carry it as it was supringly too big to fit in the yellow bag.
Breathing a sigh of relief we descend the travelator down to the bottom floor and think ourselves lucky to obtain the only trolley left at the bottom. Our elation is short lived after realising the reason that it's the only one left, due to the excruciating squeak and its desire to only pull in one direction.
Undaunted we persevere and proceed to squeak ourselves round to our required aisle, with difficulty, to pick up our shelves.
We successfully load the shelves and noisily attracting attention we, perhaps naively, join the slightly shorter self service till queue. With hindsight we should have checked out the average age of those in front, as it seems that anyone above pensionable age has absolutely no idea how to use such modern technology and have to call for assistance. Admittedly we are no spring chickens but do use our limited common sense to finally get through.
Now to treat myself to the obligatory Ikea hotdog with plenty of mustard and ketchup! But no, yet another pleasure is passing me by, the snaking queue would have meant probably another half hour plus in the store, not something I could contemplate.
Off to the car park, only to find out that our trolley is too wide to get through the posts at the top of the travelator. Reversing into the ever increasing queue building behind I then join the queue for the lift and after waiting, cram in with numerous other people and trolleys, to burst out into the covered pick up area of the covered car park. It is at this stage that the wife comes up with her suggestion of the day, 'shall I stay here with the trolley while you bring the car over?' Given the car distance from the store and the continued pouring rain you can imagine my response! So off we trudge and squeak across the lake that masquerades as a car park, load up, and then proceed to spend the next twenty minutes in the steamed up car in the queue to escape to the motorway.
As you can see I took this experience with my usual grace and cheerful demeanour without a hint of moaning, being my usual smiling self!
At this stage I would like to point out that, along with the majority of the country, we do not exactly have a local store. It's only a nearly 60 mile round trip down the M4 to Bristol and back. Previous trips have been made only on the condition of a corresponding visit to the Moor Brewery Tap in Bristol which just happens to be close to the store. No chance of a visit on this occasion, she wouldn't fancy driving back down the motorway in the pouring rain with all that 'spray' around. No such consideration was taken for me having to drive both ways!
After reluctantly being forced to agree to go, it was done on the understanding that we knew exactly what we were to buy, get it, and return straight back. The shelving required was only to come to around £15, but I reluctantly agreed that it was needed to free up space for the installation of a much needed Keg line.
Unfortunately upon arrival at Ikea following a harrowing journey down the M4 'river' , it was discovered that half of the population of Bristol and the South West also thought it would be a great day out on a rainy Sunday. Hence the car park crawl whereby every car in front stops for an age in the vain hope that an 'under cover' space is going to become available! After eventually escaping to the outdoor section of the car park in the pouring rain, it was with no surprise to find that this was also packed and the only available spaces were right at the other end, probably nearer to the centre of Bristol than Ikea. But obviously with good humour and without the hint of a moan I park up in one of the few empty spaces, their unoccupied status could possibly be explained by the ever increasing lake that was forming beneath the car!
Nothing like a good wade through vast swathes of standing water, getting splashed by other vehicles, in the pouring rain to set yourself up for the anticipation of the Ikea experience. You can imagine my happy smiling face, with my rain splattered specs and dripping hair, as I board the escalators to the top floor to eagerly join the 'Ikea Trail'.
If, as agreeed, we are just buying shelving, why does my wife feel the need to pick up the dreaded 'yellow bag', I know they are big but surely a trolley is a better bet for our anticipated purchase. My protests fall on deaf ears as usual and I am already filled with dread for the 'market hall' section. And so the 'Ikea shuffle' starts, this is pretty normal in every Ikea but I think that there must be a 'wet Sunday special shuffle'. Whole family tribes do their best to spread out accross the aisles, together with pushchairs, in a bid to make the day out last as long as possible by walking at snails pace, stopping to view and try every bit of 'low slung' furniture, which they then take an age to extract themselves from.
The only alternative is to go 'off -piste' and take ourselves via the sofas, beds etc to bypass the crowds. The staff have obviously been trained in readiness for this eventuality, by strategically placing each piece of furniture so that there is no direct route and therefore you are required to slalom around each piece.
After successfully locating and examining a sample of the required shelving, the wife then sets off to find the 'Ikea pencil' and slip of paper to write down which aisle to collect from downstairs. Has she not heard of new technology called the phone which takes pictures? Picture taken, I proceed at best possible pace down toward the next level. Upon passing the cafeteria it would have been too bad if we required refreshment, unless we wanted to join the massive queue, then wandered aimlessly around looking for an empty table.
By now we had passed through the children's section and the yellow bag contained a stuffed elephant! I did concede on this as I knew the granddaughter would love it for Christmas, plus as a bonus, it was cheap!
Now entering the dreaded 'market hall' I try to speed through the crowds filling their bags with handy plastic kitchen utensils and cheap cookwear, with the only guarantee being that you will burn your dinner! This is where wives come into their own, they think it's compulsory to fill the big yellow bag with as much cheap tat as possible and maybe top off with a smelly candle in a glass jar for good measure. After all there are only four the same still sat unused in a cupboard at home. Thinking I had got away without her buying anything, she sidestepped our direct route to the plastic recycling box section. The red bucket that I fill as high as humanly possible with a variety of cardboard, bottles and plastic at home is no longer big enough! She wants to buy another black container no bigger than the current red bucket. Pointing out a cheaper, but much larger, lidded container I was duly informed that it would look out of place next to the fridge. Here I win my only victory of the day, problem being I had to carry it as it was supringly too big to fit in the yellow bag.
Breathing a sigh of relief we descend the travelator down to the bottom floor and think ourselves lucky to obtain the only trolley left at the bottom. Our elation is short lived after realising the reason that it's the only one left, due to the excruciating squeak and its desire to only pull in one direction.
Undaunted we persevere and proceed to squeak ourselves round to our required aisle, with difficulty, to pick up our shelves.
We successfully load the shelves and noisily attracting attention we, perhaps naively, join the slightly shorter self service till queue. With hindsight we should have checked out the average age of those in front, as it seems that anyone above pensionable age has absolutely no idea how to use such modern technology and have to call for assistance. Admittedly we are no spring chickens but do use our limited common sense to finally get through.
Now to treat myself to the obligatory Ikea hotdog with plenty of mustard and ketchup! But no, yet another pleasure is passing me by, the snaking queue would have meant probably another half hour plus in the store, not something I could contemplate.
Off to the car park, only to find out that our trolley is too wide to get through the posts at the top of the travelator. Reversing into the ever increasing queue building behind I then join the queue for the lift and after waiting, cram in with numerous other people and trolleys, to burst out into the covered pick up area of the covered car park. It is at this stage that the wife comes up with her suggestion of the day, 'shall I stay here with the trolley while you bring the car over?' Given the car distance from the store and the continued pouring rain you can imagine my response! So off we trudge and squeak across the lake that masquerades as a car park, load up, and then proceed to spend the next twenty minutes in the steamed up car in the queue to escape to the motorway.
As you can see I took this experience with my usual grace and cheerful demeanour without a hint of moaning, being my usual smiling self!
