Or rather, I’m going to them. A trip to IKEA is on the cards for tomorrow. Whilst I only need a lamp, set of shelves and a saucepan, I can fully expect to come back with enough tea lights, wooden boxes, scatter cushions and weird cooking utensils to see me through any possible apocalypse in Scandi-approved style.
I’m suspect my Viking ancestors would spin in their funeral boats at this version of a Norse invasion, but then they had no time for speech bubble shaped paper clips, multi packs of clip frames or baking tins in the shape of horses (although, actually these are really cool and will definitely end up in the trolley).
There will be meatballs. There will be surreptitious sniggering at the couples arguing about which set of bedding they can stand to have on the bed without one of them going to sleep each night with a lingering bitter resentment colouring their dreams. There will be a small amount of trolley rage as I navigate around the 500th person stood in the aisle with no apparent realisation that they may be in The Fucking Way.
Hopefully, this time there will be no need to resort to bungee cord to hold the boot closed on an unexpectedly large purchase. But you never know.