Soft furnishings, good times

A couple of weeks back Big Bro stunned me with some exciting news via text:

I've bought a flat!

I'm really pleased for him, but essentially he's already lost. Y'see, I'm damn sure when we were kids that we made a bet as to who would move out first. I, of course, said that I would, not because I was eager to fly the coup, but because I recognised that I liked material possessions and quite frankly it was pretty obvious that I was filling up my tiny bedroom at an incredible rate; it was either going to be me moving out, or me being crushed by stuff, and quite possibly bringing about the collapse of the upstairs flooring in the process - something that would probably have miffed Sparky Ma and Pa a bit.

So I moved out and Big Bro lost. He, however, maintains that there was no such wager. Anyway, that's by-the-by, because what happens now is that I get to relive the excitement of filling a new place with furniture and exciting, unnecessary stuff with the bonus of not spending any money or having to live there if nothing matches or fits properly or smells weird.

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An aside:

OK, is it just me or is this not the sexiest looking biscuit evah?

If you lick it the chocolate goes even more swirly!

(Did I just confess to making out with a biscuit?)

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I initially offered to help Big Bro look at sofas. Sofa shopping is fun because you've got a airtight alibi for sprawling across someone else's sofa; I mean, there's going to be plenty of times when you pass out on it, so you better make sure it's comfortable before you buy it, right? I almost got down to my pants when I was checking out sofas because you don't want to risk chaffing of the thigh while you're chillaxing. That's one reason why I ultimately went for a leather one - smooooooooth. Anyway, it was a moot point because he decided to bugger off to DFS on his own.

Fun was to be had, though, because on Saturday afternoon Big Bro texted me to ask if I wanted to go to IKEA with him.

What a stupid question. Of course I'd go to IKEA.

And so on Saturday night we headed over to Wembley so I could introduce my naive big brother to the wonderful world of Swedish furnishings, and correct his initial impression that IKEA stuff was a load of old tat. I don't know where he'd got that from, but he was either going to have to change his mind or walk home (and let me tell you, it's a long way back).

Fortunately no brute force or cheeky threats were needed, because once he settled himself into one of the first fake living rooms in the showroom he was sold. He didn't buy anything, though; this was more of a reccy to see what he liked. He took plenty of photographs though, which is promising, and we were both taken with a chair called the Karlstad - him because he thought it was really comfortable; me because I thought it looked a bit like the captain's chair from the new Star Trek movie. He's going to get one, and he tried to goad me into buying one too - even going so far as to play on the Star Trek connection. Outrageous.

We rattled through the kitchen department pretty quickly because Big Bro's flat has a fancy new one just waiting to be tarnished by super-noodles and Angel Delight, although I was surprised to see an errant rodent on one of the work surfaces.

And for the rest of the evening I walked around with the song 'There's a rat in my kitchen' playing in my head. And I bloody hate UB40.

Any-hoo, all in all it was a success pop of the IKEA cherry for Big Bro, topped off by the fact that halfway round he got something in his eye, and while rubbing it said "there's something in my eye and I think it's…" and together we shouted "inspiration!" before laughing heartily and skipping off to the lighting department. It looks like he'll be spending quite a substantial amount of cash there in the coming months, which is very exciting. Now might just be the time for me to buy some shares in IKEA. Or at the very least dig out my old IKEA allen keys, because I freakin' love putting their stuff together - it makes me feel even more masculine than usual.