nightride

Last week, after months and months of waiting that seemed to last forever, I finally got a key from my new little pad in Prague. Finally. I have moved in almost immediately — two suitcases packed with shirts, socks and U2 CD's meant to simulate a home.

The flat was empty. There was absolutely nothing, not even a mirror in a bathroom or blinds in the windows. Bulbs sticking from ceilings were my avant-garde chandeliers. Few wires were sticking of a wall where one could imagine a kitchen at some point of time.

I had to run to IKEA the very same night I got a key — I didn't feel like sleeping on a floor. I quickly bought a large mattress for a large bed and I was ready for a night. But having a mattress on floor does not feel right. So the next step was to get a bed. And what kind of bed? My bed — mine!

IKEA, the prime example of globalisation and convenient furniture macdonaldism, feels for lost souls like me. Did you have an IKEA bed in Sydney? Here you are, dear, here's your IKEA bed from Prague. Exactly the same. You can feel at home.

And so it was. I got the same bed and voilà — I am at home.

Sometimes there's so little needed to please a man.