Futon addiction: won't anyone think of the children?

Friday night was one of the longest of my life.

Snap shot: It's 10pm, I am on a bus in Edmonton, North London, with two guys from Edmonton, Alberta. Between us we are carrying a double Futon, 24 cans of Strongbow, and 2 washing-up brushes.

Shannon an I needed to move all her stuff, plus half of my stuff, from the house we were sitting in London's Tornado Zone (North West), to Forrest Gate (East). Normal Journey time: 1 hour, 20 mins.

I did not even get to Tornado Ally until 11pm as I had to find us a bed first. I have a rare, but still crippling futon addiction. I don't really talk about it much. As soon as I finished work I Shang-highed Chris and Warren into joining my bed location and supply mission to darkest Ikea. I think Chris only came along was so he could visit the "other" Edmonton. As it turns out, I think the only thing both places have in common, is an Ikea.

And what an Ikea it is: As the bus drew round the last bend in the motorway, it suddenly loomed into view. Like a vast, dark, retail iceberg, floating in an industrial park. It even had a sister Tesco-berg floating near by. I don't remember ever being inside one before, but years of looking through Ikea catalogs while growing up means that seeing it all for real, for first time, was a very surreal experience. I was half expecting Edward Norton to stroll past, and to have all the prices float next to the various bits of furniture.

Then, suddenly, it dawned on me: Futons are a gateway drug. Not content with a normal sleeping experience, I had sought out a certain kind of bed, some of Japan's finest if you will. I know that soon, Japanese bedding may lead to low cost Swedish shelving, and from there to the heroin of the consumer world: Designer Furniture.

To Be Continued...