Learning is stressful work

AHEAD of the nail-biting drama that is finding out if you have flown or flunked this year’s GCSEs, the Teen announced that she needed a “new desk and ergonomic chair” for her A-level studies.
Pleased that she was positively chirpy about her impending results, I decided to take her to IKEA to buy these essential items, not even questioning the need for an ergonomic chair.
After ten minutes I was claustrophobic, stressed and frustrated by the herds of monobrow robots, dawdling like zombies and treating their visit to an overheated warehouse like a delicious day out, you know, like going to the seaside or the zoo. AAAGH.
The Teen had dismissed all my very practical suggestions of a desk in favour of a HUGE, glass kidney-shaped number that must have weighed as much as the half ton man.
Because the whole experience has given me sleepless nights, I won’t dwell on the details, but needless to say, we almost ended up having a blazing row on section 3,092.
This garnered much excitement from onlookers, who had turned their heads from dilly-dallying over cushions just in time to hear the Teen accuse me of living in the “dark ages” before I announced that this was “the worst day of my life”.
Four hours later, I was informed by the IKEA worker that the four legs needed for the desk were not in stock and hadn’t been since Methuselah was a boy. He gave me a refund and re-ordered them from Stockholm or somewhere.
Anyway, the debacle did not get better.
An hour later an IKEA man was still trying to force the legless desk, the frame and a swivel chair in the back of my Getz (which is not only tiny but was crammed with vintage trinkets to be sold at my stall).
I eventually saved the day with my innovative thinking and the man was indeed relieved to finally close the boot. Several days later the items were gathering dust in their boxes in the lounge.
Fortunately the Farmer-Type turned up, announcing that he is “good with his hands”.
I was delighted with this news and with pleading eyes, showed him the boxes.
“Give me a shout when your legs arrive,” he said. “I will help you screw them in.”
Incidentally, the Farmer Type was livid after reading last week’s column, claiming he is neither boring nor mean. And he says would never work on a Massey Ferguson.
Well, I would like to point out that he built the chair in five minutes flat and carried the half ton desk single-handedly up the narrow staircase without a single complaint.
Almost swoon-able.

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