My writing partner and I recently finished a substantial project. While waiting to be paid, we’ve been fantasising about what we’re going to spend the money on. Our plans for pay-day have revealed our ever-rapid slide into middle age. She’s going to treat herself to a visit to the dentist and maybe an appointment to investigate her dodgy back. I have my eye on a pre-NCT service for the car. Perhaps I’ll treat myself to a cheeky little health service renewal.
Thrilling purchases aside, I did say to her that we should do something really nice when we get paid, perhaps conjuring up images of a spa day or a swanky dinner out.
But no, we deserve something infinitely more special: a trip to Ikea for, nothing in particular.
[ I can sell my old furniture back to Ikea? How does that workOpens in new window ]
Words cannot express how much joy an aimless trip to Ikea brings me. The conditions must be perfect. The footwear must be comfy and the clothing loose and breathable. Nobody wants to ruin their experience sweating in the lighting zone. Timing is crucial too. A Tuesday morning seems to me the most logical instance for peak Ikea peace. Crucially it must be a Tuesday morning during school term time. No offence to the beautiful little crotch goblins of the world, but I do not factor tantrums in soft furnishings into my dream Swedish megastore experience. If I wanted to skirt the edges of a nervous breakdown I’d come on a bank holiday Monday.
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On arrival we’ll take a little pencil and a paper tape measure. We might not be there for anything in particular, but we have manners. We’ll observe tradition and take the ceremonial Ikea gifts.
We’ll peruse the showrooms first, marvelling at the efficient use of space in the mock studio apartments and wondering if we’ll ever be the type of people who decant all of their spices into magnetic jars or own many multicoloured colanders.
The Ikea showrooms feel like you’ve been let loose in a giant dollhouse. Everywhere you look there’s a dinky use of a corner or a bold splash of pattern. The kitchens are just crying out for me to open all of the presses for no real reason. Oh look! All of the books are in Swedish! And maybe it’s finally time to embrace placing a breakfast tray and a stylish throw on the diagonal on my bed!
Ikea stores are designed to encourage you to see everything. There’s a pathway that funnels you through the showrooms. Yes, there are escape hatches along the way but on this specific day of buying nothing in particular we will continue on the lazy river of home goods just as the retail psychologists intended.
Moving downstairs from the showrooms to the marketplace is where the real magic begins. Obviously, we will take a trolley. We might not have a shopping list per se, but you wouldn’t go on holidays and not bring back a little souvenir? Similarly, you cannot go to Ikea and return empty-handed. Might I buy a napkin holder to add to the three I already have but don’t use at home? That is my prerogative.
In the storage solution section, I will fight the urge to commit to an organisational system that I feel might change my life and solve all my problems. I have tried this before and it didn’t work. However, I will treat myself to at least one wicker basket and undoubtedly some kind of filing structure for my desk. The framing area is another Achilles heel but it is here that I must be firm and remind myself of the numerous Ikea Rödalms that I already own and sit empty and forlorn in the bottom of the wardrobe.
We’ll finish off our special day with a hot dog and a cinnamon bun while comparing our wares. I’d be surprised if we made it out without at least three scented candles, two house plants, a sack of tiny Daim bars and a shoe rack. Surely, we are all just one good shoe rack away from achieving nirvana?
If Ikea doesn’t strike you as the perfect friend day out, please allow me to suggest some alternatives: a trip to B&Q followed by a stop at one of those petrol stations with the Marks & Spencer attached. A spin through one of those turbocharged car washes with the giant brushes and hairdryers. Or, the pièce de résistance, a visit to the dump. The Ballymount Civic Amenity in Dublin 20 is a personal favourite. Treat yourself.
