I bought one of these the other day. Abby needs a desk and I'm very happy to furnish her with one. I only wish that we didn't live a 10-minute drive away from IKEA, Purley Way, because it's impossible to identify any household need that IKEA won't be able to meet. Which means that we have to go to IKEA a lot more often than I want to, my optimum frequency of visit per annum being around the NO I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO IKEA, I NEVER WANT TO GO TO IKEA, I'D RATHER SELF-CIRCUMCISE THAN GO TO IKEA EVER AGAIN mark.
This is page 3 of the instruction manual. Apart from the rather greater number of bits of faux-wood than I expected, this simple piece of child's furniture requires 114 screws, widgets, doodabs, slightly longer screws, slightly thinner doodabs and some curly things that defy description. It's enough to bring tears to a grown man's eyes.
  | Fortunately, all the bits are neatly separated and labelled. Oh, sorry, did I say 'neatly separated and labelled'? I meant 'all mixed together in one plastic bag, thus requiring you to separate and identify one from t'other without the aid of an electron microscope'. This will take at least half-an hour. It's enough to leave a grown man rolling on the floor, emitting peculiar, barely audible whimpering sounds. |
Still, once you've got to this point, slightly smug at the rigour with which you've approached the preparation stage, you know the actual task of construction is going to be a breeze.
This is page 37 of the instructions. PAGE THIRTY-SEVEN. PAGE THIRTY SEVEN.
No doubt in my mind. Someone, somewhere should be shot.
This is page 37 of the instructions. PAGE THIRTY-SEVEN. PAGE THIRTY SEVEN.
No doubt in my mind. Someone, somewhere should be shot.
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