The new Ikea store has finally opened in Dublin. It’s slogan is “Bring Out Your Rebel”.
Three thousand people passed through the door in the first hour on Monday, and 5,000 over the whole day. Every weekend from now till hell freezes over (and that’s further away than it used to be, thanks to global warming) thousands of couples will get into cars, drive along the M50, queue to get into the car park. The sheer number of couples in the one place will make the spread of swine flu even more inevitable. They will collect a map and head off into the cavernous abyss, like Hans, Axel & the Professor on the trail of Arne Saknussemm. They will bicker continually. They will eat Swedish meatballs in the cafe, though normally an Irish person, when offered meatballs, will recoil as if they’d been offered cat vomit. The husbands will try to get glimpses of the score of whatever match they’re being forced to miss in order to share this experience. The wives will compare costs with the prices in the Belfast store. Those who bring children will lose them, scold them or smack them, and often all three.
They will come home with the two items they went with the intention of buying and three other items that they didn’t. They will bicker again as they try to fit their flatpacks into their car, and will know deep in their souls that this squabbling is just a mild appetiser for the truly humunguous row that they’re going to have when they try to put the stuff together.
And two weekends later they will go again.
If this is rebellion, then so is wearing a suit and tie, queueing for new Harry Potter books or watching Big Brother (the fact that I do two out of those three things does not invalidate my argument).
Any way, I’m going to bring out my real rebel. I’m never going near the place.