IKEA = unhappiness and unhealthiness

Since the end of the summer holidays we've been doing a lot of work around the house. A new floor, new windows, licks of paint, new lights and, of course, lots of new furniture. IKEA furniture. My hands are red-raw from
the substandard screwdrivers we have and my willingness to continue living has been put to the test considerably these past few days as Mrs G and I put up a wardrobe in our bedroom. "know your limits" is a phrase that has practically become our family slogan.

So today should have been a quiet day of putting stuff into (our new) shelves, waiting for my folks to arrive. Unfortunately the weather and almost Exodus-esque traffic prevented them from reaching us so instead I was sent to, yes, IKEA to fetch more firewood furniture for the house.

I took K. with me to keep me company - and what cracking company she was too!

I never knew she was so strong until I saw her lifting a 33kg box off a shelf and onto the trolley. Quite amazing for a 9 year-old!

Afterwards I bought her an IKEA hotdog (also self-assembly in that you put your own sauces on) and hence today?s blip.

In addition to IKEA sapping my will to live, they're also making me unhealthy. Thanks a lot lads. Or should that be "thånks å løt"?