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Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to Ikea we go . . . . .

I went to Ikea (pronounced Ick-yar by the Sarf Manchester bleached/purchased teeth community in their efforts to try and keep up with the new advertisement pronunciation). My son required a wardrobe, although why he can't sleep in a bed like other computer science students is beyond me. I also wanted a sofa to match my eyes, but Ick-yar don't do bloodshot.

A N Y W A Y . . . Saturday is NOT the best day to head to Ick-yar Ashton-under-Lyne, not that any day is necessarily the best day to head to Ashton-under-Lyne. By the way; to those of you living in a country that doesn't have an Ashton-under-Lyne (a conurbation within Greater Manchester in the north of England), believe me, you are not missing anything.
Absolute mayhem, with fighting, cursing  and blood-letting over trolleys, and that was just the staff.

Now. Some questions for the more regular (must be the fibre)  Ick-yar visitors.

1. Why do people who are buying large items of furniture reverse into parking spaces thus making it impossible to load their car without faffing around and causing a stir, argument and swearing as they drive out of their parking space to swop the orientation of their car, and as they are so doing, someone else slides their car into the temporarily vacated parking space?

2. Why do people, on what is a very busy day and car parking is not the easiest, wheel their trolley into an adjacent free space NEXT to their car to unload (remember, needing to put their purchases into the BACK of the car) when there is an adequate walk/load way provided by those nice Ick-yar car park architects?

3. Why do customers who are buying only a Blobbaclump scatter cushion and and a Krindoflop rubber plant insist on using the biggest, commercial-sized trolley Ick-Yar have available?
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