Having had a wonderfully restful time with my family, it is a joy to be back at home in Bristol, starting to implement the visions I have had for making small changes to my room in my humble abode. I often long for more walls to adorn with photos I've managed to capture of this beautiful world & my beautiful family and friends. I have mounting boxes of photographs, and while I know that I will never be able to have all of the ones I would like to on display, I have wanted to put up some new ones for a while, but have had a lack of photo frames. (Note to self, the fact of never being able to put up all the photos I'd like is another very good reason for investing in a digital slr so I can take decent digital photos and post them on a blog) Thanks to my sister, and a parent at school, I have acquired some new frames over Christmas. So now, I have three of my recent favourite photos framed and ready to be hung:
(Actually, they're not really that recent - they were taken in March & April 2008, but they're still some of my favourite shots from last year.)
Hmmm...annoyingly, I can't find the cd with the photos on so tried to take them from the copy I have on facebook but I can only get them in a tiny format, appart from this one of my lovely sister, taken by the observatory in Bristol when she came to stay with me.
So, going back to implementing changes in my room, this basically consists of putting up a new, exciting bookshelf. I don't feel that bookshelf is the right description, but that's what Ikea call it. Now I am sure most of you are scoffing at me buying anything from Ikea, let alone anything that might be 'exciting', but hey, what can I say, I decided to purchase a piece of furniture from the crazy Swedish store, knowing that the whole process would be an 'experience.' It was with slight dread that I approaced the blue and yellow delight, wishing for some company - not just because I knew I would not be capable of lifting the flat-pack boxes by myself, but because I feel that a trip to Ikea warrants some moral support. In fact, come to think of it, I think Ikea should issue a health warning that reads something like this:
'Warning: We designed our store in a way that means that even though we have put arrows on the floor to guide you, it is more than likely that you will get hopelessly lost in our store. Furthermore, you are at a seriously high risk of having a heavy-onset headache upon arrival, which will tighten to a vice like grip, producing tunnel vision, upon departure. Have you remembered to wear extra padding on your shins? If not, don't even think about approaching one of our flat bed trolleys. You will get bruises. Lots of them. If you are the proud owner of children, we highly recommend you make use of our children's play dungeon. It will make your trip a slightly less stressful experience. And because we are incredibly clever when designing store layouts, you will have to go through the whole store first to get to the entrance of the children's dungeon, then go back to the start, just like in a frustrating board game.'
I kid you not, I had just got to the end of the store, and spotted some children's drawings on display. At first I thought, 'Ah, isn't that lovely? Some children actually enjoy this experience', before thinking, 'that's really weird that children love coming here so much that they actually draw pictures of their experience at Ikea then send them in.' I decided to take a closer look. As I got near to the wall, I suddenly became aware of a lot of children's voices, all coming from the same direction. I looked to my left, where the sound was coming from, and saw some gates that looked just like this:
(Apologies for the smallness of the image. I could not get it any bigger.) Bizarrely, there were no children in sight. My conclusion, therefore, is that Ikea willingly keep shoppers children in a dungeon.
With quite a lot of help from some willing male assistance, I managed to get the boxes into the car, back home and up two flights of stairs. It's going to be an interesting challenge when I come to move and have to get this big old thing out of my house. But I don't need to think about that now. All that is left is the assembling of it. I can hear the laughter now, at the prospect of me trying to do this single handedly - my own laughter included. I may well need to enlist some helpers.