The last Davey makes a day-off trip to Ikea

We didn't need anything so it was the perfect time to go. Number 4 bus to Place Paul Doumer at the Chartrons, then Tram C to the delightfully named 40 Journaux, then hoof it a couple of minutes to Ikea.

A chap relieving himself at the side of the street set the theme for the day. There were some trees around, but only small ones, so I did have a little sympathy for him, though he could have tried harder to find a secluded corner.

Ikea has been rearranged. Now they have these mock-ups of what wonders you can achieve with their furniture and an unlimited budget. We admired a dwelling place fit for an imperial family shoe-horned into just a few square metres. It's always good to get a few ideas. If we did it their way you could house three families in our flat, I reckon.

Later on came some examples of sitting rooms. One was labelled "Pour s'exposer". Thinking it couldn't possibly mean what it seemed to mean, but not being sure exactly what they were getting at, I dared to peep inside. The room was furnished in black with subdued lighting, dark walls and quiet jazz playing. I moved swiftly on.

One nice thing about Ikea is that the people are part of the show. One little corner had a nice sofa on which a sprawling figure was slathered, like American frosting on a sponge. It was a man. Whether he was alive, dead or just a dummy, I found it impossible to tell. A couple squabbled happily about bamboos. Another couple made a substantial pile of purchases. "It's a bedroom", they told the lady on the till.

It was almost lunchtime, so we ate some pork casserole and then bought a milk jug.

Tram and bus home.

On the way home I heard the news that London Theological Seminary has changed its name to London Seminary. I wholeheartedly approve, of course, though I wonder if just "Seminary" would be better. Anyway, they want to avoid the use of initials and have a more memorable name.

It made me reflect how my name is prone to being initialised, misspelt and forgotten. Maybe, after 57 years, a change is called for. What if my name were just "A"? It's easy to spell. You can't shorten it. It's memorable.

My sister stopped my dreams by calling me to order. "You're the last Davey", she said.


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