easy like sunday morning

For some reason James is unable to lie in at the weekends. Mondays through to Fridays are a completely different matter, on work/school days I have to practically drag him off the bed, or entice him out of his slumber with the promise of comforting cups of tea and breakfast. At the weekend, however, James seems to rise with the sun.

Sunday mornings especially appeal when it comes to early rising. I suspect there’s probably a repeat of the previous night’s football highlights on at this time. My remaining asleep after James has risen facilitates James’ enjoyment of this programme.

On this particular Sunday morning I forced myself out of bed too. I had barely slept during the previous night (next door had had one of their famous karaoke parties and I’d been subjected to bad Celine Dion covers until 4am) and I knew, if I stayed in bed, I’d sleep right through till tea time.

Once we’d finished our croissants, the day loomed ahead of us, chasm-like. How would we fill the day? What would motivate us to get washed and dressed rather than slobbing about watching the ‘Hollyoaks’ omnibus (did I just admit to doing that?) in our bath robes? It only took a while before inspiration descended upon me. I knew the perfect way to spend a Sunday morning, we had to go buy large quantities of pointless, frivolous, cheap, mass produced stuff.

‘Let’s go to IKEA!’

I wasn’t the only person in Leeds who had been lulled into a false sense of ‘It’s Sunday morning, it’s bound to be quiet’ security. The Swedes (the nation, not the vegetable) had anticipated this potential lull in trading. Serving a full English breakfast in the restaurant for only £0.95, ensured that practically every first time home owner, newly cohabiting couple and young family in the city were queuing up at opening time for parking spaces.

At first it was fun. James tried out various beds and sofas in the ‘show home’ section. I was suitably impressed by the interior design of a room not much larger than a cupboard which incorporated a bathroom, kitchen, lounge, bedroom and study all at the same time (and with ample storage space too – genius). As we moved, unknowingly, towards the centre of the IKEA labyrinth (the IKEA restaurant) soon-to-be-placated-by-Swedish-meatballs-children began to moan and babies began to whimper. James, becoming overwhelmed by the oppressive atmosphere, began to put pressure on me to hurry up.

I was in an IKEA frenzy, planning out the redesign of my bedroom, armed with a paper tape measure, frantically assessing the size of various wardrobes and bed side tables. I was temporarily overcome with consumerism. James maneuvered me, expertly, through the bottle neck of the kitchen equipment department, small storage (so many pretty baskets), the bathroom shop and the ‘slight seconds’ department, reassuring me, that I didn’t really need to buy these things and that we could always come back another time.

As we drove out of the car park, with me armed with a totally pointless lazy susan, I retained a glow from the buzz of my IKEA transaction.

Next week (if James will let me) I’m going back for more.

ignorance is bliss

The group of girls emanated intimidation. One in particular, stockier than the other two, taller, with the beginnings of a hunch back, sported a huge, spiky jewel clustered ring that would easily have punctured a cheek or torn into a temple. She had girls names tattooed onto her arm. Lovers? Sisters? Children?

For a moment I feared for the safety of my supermarket shopping. Had she decided she wanted it, or the contents of my handbag I would have cowered and handed it over without a thought. This girl was used to getting what she wanted using brute force, and I wasn’t about to try to change that. I zipped up my hand bag, gathered my shopping together and placed it out of harm’s way. My movement alerted her attention. She looked me up and down. I froze back into my place in the queue, pretending I hadn’t seen her, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.

The bus arrived. The girls bullied their way through the alighting passengers, each securing an empty street.

The rest of us hung onto framework around the front of the bus, near the driver, apprehensive about moving any further up the bus towards the scary girls. The driver continued to let passengers on despite the obvious bottle neck. Unwittingly, one of these additional passengers, a Chinese lady, tried to take up a seat next to one of the group.

The girl she chose to sit with had been quieter than the others. She was more feminine in appearance and not as grotesque. I was suprised when the girls face contorted as the Lady tried to sit down. Aggressively she said ‘NO’ and refused the seat. The other girls squealed and guffawed at this.

As the journey continued they laughed at the Lady and spat out abuse.

The Lady remained standing. She said nothing and did nothing. She just tried to make herself invisible, showing no emotion, as if she couldn't hear their jibes.

I recalled the ignorant arrogance of my own youth. I remembered the years where my self assurance wavered and the sequence of events that well and truly obliterated my confidence.

I wondered what would obliterate theirs.