After a weekend of self-assembly hell I have decided it’s high time I consigned flat pack furniture to Room 101.
Flat pack furniture has its place (other than on the scrap heap, that is). We’ve all been there – spent all our money on moving and got nothing left in the pot to furnish the place. In desperate times a rickety MDF monstrosity can seem just the answer. The reality, sadly, never seems to live up to the job.
First of all you have to physically go and buy the stuff. Which is never in stock. So you buy something else which isn’t really suitable but you can’t face the thought of going home empty handed. You then injure yourself as you try to single handedly manoeuvre the boxes into your car. Which don’t fit despite your careful measurements. So you have to trawl them back into the store and arrange a very expensive delivery for some time the following week. By which time you’ve done without said item for long enough to realise it wasn’t really as desperately necessary as you thought it was in the first place.
By this point you’re sick of the sight of the thing and yet you’ve barely even started. Flat pack furniture is bad for your marriage. It’s official. In fact it’s probably the cause of more break ups than infidelity, alcoholism and cross-dressing put together. I defy anyone to assemble the simplest of book shelves without sparking marital World War Three. The instructions are wrong, the bits are missing – is this your partner’s fault? Well in the heat of the moment… hell yes!
The worst of it? Assuming you actually succeeded in making the thing resemble a wardrobe/book case/tidy sidey (delete as appropriate), the next time you move house the flaming stuff disintegrates the moment it’s lifted onto the removal van, leaving you right back where you started – with a new home, no furniture and a measly flat-back budget to save the day. Those Swedes have a lot to answer for.
Illustration by the hugely talented Mike Smith at Blogshank.com