Men have walked on the Moon, explored the world's jungles and the ocean floor but until last weekend I had never been to IKEA.

It wasn't for want of trying. Every time friends returned from a shopping expedition armed with Scandinavian flatpacks, fabrics and kitchen goods I would tell them how much I would like to go.

"Would you?" they'd say looking at me in a way that suggested they saw me as a chintz and frills fetishist rather than a Swedish minimalist.

One Christmas a cousin sent me a pack of IKEA tea towels and I was so thrilled I hid them away, like family heirlooms, so they wouldn't get used.

The idea of visiting IKEA became something of an obsession, rather like some people dream of seeing the Grand Canyon at sunset or standing in the foothills of the Himalayas.

Just when I had given up all hope of setting foot in the store, I received a bribe I couldn't resist.

A friend in Brighton was taking some furniture to his daughter in London.

Would I come along to help load and unload?

As I hesitated, he remarked casually: "We could stop off at IKEA on the way."

This fish was hooked.

That evening I went round my home, from room to room, noting what was needed and what needed to be replaced. By the time I went to bed I had spent imaginary thousands and the house was unrecognisable.

I slept badly, barely suppressed excitement I guess, and was up early, if not at dawn, by nine am. Well, it was the weekend.

"There it is, IKEA," said my friend as we drove through the suburbs of Croydon. And there it was on the horizon. I couldn't have been more impressed if he'd announced we were approaching the Taj Mahal (though I haven't been there either).

Being a Sunday we arrived before the store was officially open, though the car park was already heaving. We were told we could go in and browse.

There was no fanfare as I crossed the threshold, no heavenly choir, no shining lights, just shoulder to shoulder crowds of sturdy folk jostling for position, trolleys at the ready for the off.

"What do you think of planet IKEA then?" said my friend. "Anything in particular you're after?"

"Right now all I want is a cup of coffee and the lavatory - not necessarily in that order," I replied.

Our timetable allowed me just one hour to see the sights but hey, I'm the woman who did the British Museum in two hours and the Louvre in three.

Entire families seemed to be on the march, from toddlers in pushchairs to grannies with Zimmer frames.

I was swept along by the crowds - past sofa beds and bathroom suites, past endless bookcases, storage cabinets, pots, pans, potted plants and wooden coat hangers.

My friend bought a table, well, he bought a table top and four legs to be attached later, plus a box of kitchen knives.

"What have you bought?" he asked as we met up by his car.

"Bought?" I said. "Oh, I haven't bought anything. I just wanted to look around and be able to tell people I, too, had been to IKEA."

My friend looked thoughtful then passed me an empty carrier bag.

"In that case you had better have a souvenir," he said.