On Saturday I bought furniture from Ikea. On Sunday I looked at it. It still hadn’t assembled. I guessed I’d have to Do It Myself.
What gets me about Ikea is the wee grinning guy on the instructions, looking as if he couldn’t think of anything more pleasant than clambering about on all fours on a Sunday evening, his back aching, never having the sense to take equipment off the floor and so having screws and screwdrivers dig into his knees.
I did, admittedly, find a sense of pride in building this wardrobe and its components myself. Then there were times I wished dearly for a friend. Or at least to briefly become left-handed.
My experience of DIY comprised building furniture in rooms that had none. But putting together a wardrobe, taller than I am, in an already-furnished room? That was DIY-cum-spatial-awareness puzzle.
There are few greater evils in the world than realising that you can still put furniture together when one part is on the wrong way around.