Swedish flat pack..
I live in a tiny, ten year old house, and I decided that I needed a coffee table, to match my bookcases, hold up drinks and help with the board whilst I thrash my Dad at Christmas Trivial Pursuits. Easy.

I measured the available floor. and cajoled my mate into a trip to our nearest blue and yellow furniture wasteland. The first time either of us had attended without hangovers. Marvelous.

I looked up the unpronounceable name on the tag, and wandered into the warehousy bit at the back, only to find that there was no sign of the table in the size I needed, but there was one in the next size up, only a matter of milimetres. Piece of cake.

We got this enormous fecker home. Into my kitchen, then measured the box, and the available space. Bugger.

It's still there, in it's box five years on, like a brown cardboardy room elephant that everyone looks at and smirks, 'cos they know it was my idea. It finished my Festive season off beautifully, when it fell on me this year. On Boxing day. Nice.
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Thu 21 May 2009, 13:17, Reply)