I’m in a mood - fouled by trendy Swedish furniture and the rolling maul of barge-arse shoppers intent  on pecking over every tea cup and every damn designer cheese grater in the entire fucking IKEA superstore.

And, as my mood bulges from my throbbing temples, I note a prowling hyena, a cruising security guard, running point near the Turkish blue glassware.

I think he may have overheard my disparaging remarks about that stripy lounge-suite ($445.00) somewhere back there  in that bruising, consumptive maze.

Distracted by a happy fat family excitedly poking through the  bright mustard yellow cupboards of a carry home, kit kitchen (flat packed $752.98).

I nudge my brother-in-law… ‘Look at those sad mother fuckers’ I say it a little too loudly, as I rattle a wooden bread bin door and the tin foil hinges give way.

And then he’s there at my elbow, the no brained, bullish security guard - his eyes saying he wants to obliterate my smug smile with a white canvas folding chair ($49.99) he’s carrying for some old granny.

The neon hanging lights have made me a little disorientated and I try to stare him down… a fool, I know…  a god-damn fool.

Taking my scrawny arm in his meat ball paws he frog marches me towards the nearest exit.

My sister, not wanting to loose the shopping opportunity, looks like she might just throw me to the wolves - happy to see me pulverized ‘cause where they’re from there’s no god damn IKEA for a hundred miles.

And now Andrei The Giant is wrestling me like a sack of spuds through the Bedding and Linen section – getting desperate I grab at a pillow display n it comes with us - sixties style throw pillows ($19.00 for three) fly in all directions, till Andrei gets me in a Full-Nelson on a king-sized Posturepedic mattress ($899.00 not inc. base) and starts drill his elbow deep into my spine.

And now suddenly there’s two of the big gorillas  - they’re pulling at me and I’m screaming and thrashing as they drag me out the front doors to polish my face with their jack boots between two Toyota Corollas  …

And, dazed and confused, I notice my sister is tapping me on the shoulder saying… ‘Jesus, what the hell’s the matter with you, you frigging nut case, you’re making mewing noises for god’s sake.’

And I look around and I’m still standing, staring at a Smeg Bench Top Stove ($599.95) and the guard has wandered off, bored - with me not being worth the effort.

It was all just one of those shopper zone-out nightmares…

‘Come on’ my sister says… ‘We’ve got to get to the bathroom section - I desperately need some new taps ($38.50 a set) for the ensuite, they’re from Uzbekistan… or Turkestan… or somewhere.’ And I’m in tow again and everything looks o.k.

But you never know what might happen in a maze of uptight Swedish furniture, frenzied crowds, and an overzealous security department… you never know… there could be bargains or there could be buggery.