Ikea — Swedish for divorce

Oscar Wilde once said: “There are only two types of people in this world — those who shop at Ikea and those who don’t.” All right, Oscar Wilde did not say that, but it feels that way sometimes, doesn’t it?

At least it does in the Western world, where it seems every home, my own included, will have at least one item from the ubiquitous Swedish brand lurking in the corner — probably a corner bookcase — probably a BILLY.

Oh, don’t even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. There are not many of us who have not, at some stage, owned or lived in a home with a BILLY bookcase — during the ’80s, it was practically compulsory, along with fern pot plants and a blue and white striped couch.

So popular, so successful, and so globally recognisable is this brand — founded by Ingvar Kamprad (now 90 and a multi-billionaire) in 1943 — that last week, the Ikea museum opened in Sweden.

Yes, an entire museum devoted to the Ikea story, with, I believe, an entire section just on the EXPEDIT shelving system. I may have made that up but then again, it’s entirely possible — so popular was this particular range of home shelving, and again do not pretend you don’t know what it is. The museum, which has already proved to be a hot-ticket tourist item, is at the site of the original Ikea store, first opened in Almhult in 1958.

Now, I don’t know exactly where Almhult is, but I do know that it will be just close enough to a city centre that you can do the drive in under an hour or two — and just far enough away that you will feel compelled to buy something from the gift shop, to make the drive seem worth it.

Aah, Ikea — it’s Swedish for “genius”. It’s also, as we all know, Swedish for “I think I want a divorce, Howard”, and “No, I don’t know where the $%@#$%@#$% allen key is, Judy, perhaps you would care to look among these 27,000 pieces still on the &*%^$ floor?”

The other thing I know about this museum, without ever having set foot inside, is that people will get lost in it. Yes, people will get lost there because the museum is apparently set out exactly like the store, which means that visitors will enter, and find themselves swept along in a one-way tide of humanity as they frantically look around for an exit door, which they won’t find, because it will be cleverly hidden behind a mirror.

They also won’t be able to find their children, who will be cleverly hidden beneath a pile of brightly coloured balls. This is the Ikea way — get them in, keep them in, and don’t let them leave without purchasing at least one kitchen utensil they had no idea they needed — hello CHOSIGT Funnel Set in my top kitchen drawer.

The museum also has an Ikea-themed hotel next door to it, where presumably guests assemble their own beds for the night, and an interactive space where visitors are encouraged to tell “their Ikea story”. Apparently everyone has one — this is mine.

One day I discovered I was having a baby and I bought the entire HENSVIK nursery range because I wanted to pretend that I was, in fact, Scandinavian and that my whole life was cool, and minimalist and uncluttered.

I also wanted to pretend that I was Princess Mary and was doing up the nursery in my castle in Denmark.

My husband unpacked and assembled it all, but when he was finished, there were a few

bits and pieces left over and I worried non-stop that this meant the furniture would not be

safe for the baby, so I asked him if he would mind starting over and he said “What, with another woman?” and I cried and we nearly got divorced. The end.

What about you — have you got an Ikea story to share?

Twitter:@franceswhiting