It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman coming out of IKEA will be unable to remember why she has bought twelve spice jars, two packs of different sized napkins, three candles and a set of glasses when all she went in for was a bookcase. And she will have absolutely no idea why her bill is always a multiple of £60 whatever she buys.
I went to IKEA this weekend. With My Mother. My Mother is a force of nature. She is just back from a months stay with her sister in California, that reduced her to tears of boredom. ( My aunt lives in a trailer park). Over lunch she announced that she needed a “proper” holiday. She hopes to travel the Silk Route from Tashkent, through Uzbekistan and various other ‘stans to the Chinese border. My Mother is 85.
My Mother is also a great talker and sometimes the best plan of attack with her is to go out on a trip. Which is why I thought IKEA on a busy Saturday afternoon seemed like a good idea. Interestingly, she needed nothing, but still came out with a pack of napkins, a tray and a bag of mini Dime bars.
The force of nature had met its match…