Ikea: Home of vocal lesbians and hot dog-chasing tightwads

You probably know that I recently moved house. I'm now in that familiar position of having two television cabinets whilst not being entirely sure where the kettle is.

Part of the homebuilding procedure is of course visiting Ikea. I checked the relevant paperwork and found that yes, I am legally obliged to visit the Swedish furniture superstore once a month until I'm dead. My only choice is which day I go. What a gyp.

I chose this time to go on a Monday, mainly because I expected it to be relatively quiet. It wasn't, mainly because it's the school holidays, so I was constantly on my guard for kids pushing miniature trollies at high speed into my ankles. Luckily for them, no such collision occurred and they'll happily see their teen years.

The problem (or benefit, in my opinion) of Ikea is that the close-knit nature of the layout means you're often in the vicinity of other couples measuring headboards, and get to hear snippets of their conversations. It was through the medium of inadvertent eavesdropping that these two beauties fell into my lap.

- An obviously lesbian couple, with an obvious husband/wife set-up. Whilst milling around the picture frames, they passed me in the opposite direction. Grabbing the 'wife' by the waist, the 'husband' then imparting this sweet nothing in her beloved's ear:

"Come here and give us a snog, you big lesbian"

I managed to control my laughter until I was just out of earshot (I have no doubt she could've kicked my head in had she wanted to), but you have to ask what kind of statement that is. As if hetero couples refer to each other as 'big fat straighties'.

- The woman in front of us at the checkout pulled the checkout girl up when a dish she thought was one pound odd actually turned out to be a little over two. After checking, it transpired the shopper had picked up the wrong sized dish, so decided to leave it, due to the 80 or so pence difference in price. "Fair do's" thought I, surmising that she must be a bit short on brass and couldn't afford to go chucking it about on oversized cookery items. I found myself to be wrong, however, when she proceeded to the hot dog stand, bought TWO, then ate them herself on the way across the car park. Clearly spending the thick end of two quid on processed meat products was more favourable that spending the extra 80p on a dish. What a gal.

I'm off back next Monday to actually buy something. I'll report back on the latest goings on with the social underclass once I've been. Ciao.