The LTLP enjoys going to Ikea.
I do not enjoy going to Ikea. I would rather stay at home, driving nails through my scrotum whilst listening to the Stereophonics. It’s that sort of disenjoyment.
This would not normally be a problem. We have a modern relationship based on respect. If she wants to spend her spare time in Ikea then that’s fine by me. The stupid cow.
The problem with our two ‘not wanting anything to do with Ikea’/‘wanting to go to Ikea’ worlds is that there is sometimes seepage. This seepage takes the form of my non-Ikeaic day suddenly being invaded with bags of crap that she’s bought.
And just when I thought I’d won the battle to get her to stop buying unnecessary rubbish from there, the Government tells us all to stock up on candles.
We are all unprepared, they say, for an emergency. It’s because we’re all so used to be able to pop out for 24-hour shopping all the time.
Hmm. I suspect whoever wrote that hasn’t spent much time in this corner of Norfolk.
I’m not sure how I feel about the rest of the advice. Should the village be dirty-bombed I’m reasonably self sufficient. I have a gun and a plentiful supply of rabbits, and the Fray Bentos factory is local although, to be honest, I’d rather die slowly from hunger.
It’s this ‘turn on the radio’ thing that worries me. If I’m cowering under the stairs with the LTLP and three tins of beans, really the last thing I want is to flick on the radio and hear the cheery tones of Steve Wright going:
“Factoid – we’re all going to die!”