Then there are the instructions. For those of us who grew up with Lego, the wordless picture books are very familiar. They tell a tale of perfect construction in outlined black and white, where ticks and crosses tell you exactly which bits you need and which bits you ought not to climb on.
You'd think then, that with all the impeccable machinery and the simplified but detailed depiction of how to put it together, it would be quite straightforward to build, say, a chest of drawers you bought a few weeks ago from an epic trip to Southampton IKEA.
I twisted the knobs of the final drawer and then slotted it into the empty frame. It rolled out towards me. That can't be right. Then I noticed that the spacing was all wrong. There was a gap at the top.
It didn't take long to realise that I'd built the side bits with the runners... upside down.
Upside down! How could that even be possible to do? I'd followed it so closely! Nonetheless, upside down they were.
I grabbed my screwdriver and started dismantling the runners, turning them round so that they were the other way up.
The drawers still didn't sit right.
A glance at the instructions showed me my second error. I'd attached the other runners, all six of them, to the drawers upside-down as well! Out came the screwdriver with a bit of a sigh.
How could I have got it so wrong?
I did get there in the end but the late-night hammering probably didn't bode well for the neighbours. At least it's done. Though I do get the feeling I've been outwitted by some Swedish furniture.
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