Dang.

So I was about to organise our books yesterday (no small feat, let me say) and seriously believed that we were needing another bookcase to join the three we have already. Neil — believe it or not — enthusiastically suggested that I work out a better solution than the cheap shelves we’ve got and that means IKEA!
Oh, the unhealthy love I have for IKEA…

Anyway, I arranged and categorised the books. Tidy. Shelf labels. (Yes I know how ridiculous shelf labels sound for home bookcases, but this task also taps into my unhealthy love for the labelling machine.) We can now find things. I didn’t go so far as alphabetising by author or title, but our fiction is separated from the non-fiction. The writing books have their own shelves. Sylvia Plath has made friends with Shel Silverstein. Horror is mingling with Sci-Fi and Fantasy and staying well-away from Watership Down. Albert Camus is still aloof and dusty but is being socialised with other dusty fiction I’ll likely never read. You get the idea. But, to my dismay…

I made the existing space work more efficiently. This means no IKEA.

Dang.

Must buy more books…

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4 thoughts on “Dang.”

  1. Reminds me of a Peter Kay joke:

    “Sadly, we lost our grandfather last week.” (Audience groans sympathetically). “Oh, no no! He’s not dead – he’s in IKEA!!”

    Tee hee hee!!

  2. So, so true! I must say, I _heart_ IKEA but the experience of a busy Saturday in one of their stores is enough to pain even the most devout.

    The catalogues are like porn to me though– hubba hubba! Yeah baby, show me your Skruvsta. Slowly… slowly…

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