And Ikea.
That wonderfully addictive Swedish DIY paradise in its golden and blue magnificence. A magical world where perfect household organisation is only a Malmö wall-mounted storage system with in-built rail-mounted wire baskets and convenient hooks away, and all your interior design dreams would become blissful reality if only you could manage to put it together.
As most of you know, I've recently moved into a new flat. Well, a new share flat. The extent of the furniture in my room on arrival in that new flat included a loft bed frame, a bamboo lounge chair, an ancient armchair and a pair of wooden TV tables inherited from the previous resident of my room.
That was all the excuse I needed to venture to Tempelhof in southern Berlin, the closest of the three Ikea superstores. I even did a re-con visit, trekking across town one Friday night after work in the rain to obtain a copy of the renovator's bible, the coveted Ikea catalogue, in preparation for my planned excursion the following day.
Over a coffee the next morning, I perused the pages in search of bargains that not only would fit my extremely tight budget, but also turn my room from four walls and a floor into a living space.
Then that afternoon, I joined forces with my Berlin best friend and one of her flatmates, and together, the three of us took on the two-storeyed homeware haven of Ikea, Tempelhof.
The design ingenuity! The innovation combined with affordability! The coolness of bold colours and unpronounceable names! It’s an adult’s toystore!
We spent four hours there. I could have bought half the store. As it was, I had to show considerable restraint in only buying what I did. I mean, who can’t find a use for 100 tea candles for a few Euros, or a stylish yet reasonably priced wicker laundry basket, or a brightly coloured floor rug? On this particular visit however, I showed remarkable restraint in only buying a few things.
A mattress – clearly essential, considering the previous three nights I’d been sleeping on all of the winter clothes I had in Berlin carefully folded into a makeshift bed so that the wood of the base wouldn’t be so uncomfortable.
A desk – DIY of course. But considering my Lego skills as a child, and the fact that my reputation with a previous employer for assembling furniture faster than any other colleague led to my then-manager designating an hour per week on my roster to constructing display models of new stock, I knew I wouldn’t have a problem. Give me an Allen key and a Phillips head screwdriver, and I'm good to go.
The piece de resistance however, was my sofa bed. I’d had my eye on a few sofa beds advertised in Buy/Swap/Sell websites in Berlin, and I really wanted an Exarby. Comfy, cheap, and chic. But as it turned out, this store was out of stock. They did however have a fantastic alternative. Sign up for the Ikea loyalty card, and for the punishment of receiving the aforementioned renovator’s bible, otherwise known as the quarterly Ikea catalogue, conveniently delivered to your house, in addition to the occasional special offer email… you would get a €99 sofa bed for the bargain price of €49!!!
Yes, I bought it. And I love it.
Hello, my name’s Australis, and I'm an Ikea addict.
1 comment:
Oh, good! So you've a place for me to sleep when I finally get over to visit?
Post a Comment