I went to Ikea cos I don’t have a bed and I want a sofa bed but I don’t wanna spend loadse of dolla’ - after what seems like hours trekking around the maze of stuff for houses (yawn) -  I get to the warehouse bit where all the stuff is in boxes - an’ i’m looking at the box an’ i’m thinking about my little car - I have a tape measure (but who am I kidding I didn’t measure anything before I got here) - I give the box a cheeky measure anyway - might as well look profesh  - then nod in appreciation at the box (as it’s exactly my height)….but this helps nothing. After some minutes thinking about this problem, I give up - cos I can’t be bothered to drive here again (I don’t have a satnav, but I do have a good visual memory, so i have to look at all the stages of the journey on google maps; yes this morning I dragged myself to Bristol Ikea before I drove here) - So I start lifting the box onto the trolley. I feel like a single parent or something, but luckily I’m buff and it wasn’t uber heavy so I didn’t have to play a woman card and get someone to help. Phew. Although there were plenty of men striding around, riding a ‘flat packed furniture’ high… (I shouldn’t mock, I quite like to build the odd bit of furniture) Anyway - some tense moments down the travelator as I start to doubt the polo capacity. BUT NO, the Polo is a beast - all is well. Happy ending high.