Home

Few people escape the house guest experience at this time of year.

So thank god for Martha Stewart who reckons the only real difference between a swanky three room suite at the Hilton and a couple of nights on the lumpy mattress in your spare room is a stack of fresh towels wrapped in white ribbon.

Oh, and a vase of flowers. Preferably some that weren’t wilted by the heat of Christmas Eve or the torrential rain of Christmas night; access to a full length mirror, a stack of spare coat hangers, hanging space and an empty drawer or two.

Continue reading "How to have really good house guests" »

Ikea dearest, I remember the excitement as your latest tome plopped into my letterbox with the all the promise of how shiny, organised and streamlined my life would be if I married my dollars to your flat-pack.

I enter your hallowed halls with expectations and delight, with wonderment in your innovations and pleasure in your primary colours.

Seven hours later, I emerged with the truth from the ‘Seventh Circle of Hell’ you call a store, the veil of infatuation torn from my eyes; having been funneled like a drugged lemming through your maze-like halls amidst aisles of numbered items and towers of indecipherably coded boxes.

Continue reading "Hell has been franchised and it’s hiding in the suburbs" »