Would YOUR marriage survive putting up 7.45PM Ikea's flatpack from hell?
Psychologist call this unit ‘the Divorce Maker’. .
a reasoned discussion before we both decide she’s right. Despite this, our TV unit is starting to come together nicely. I'm slightly worried that there seems to be enough wood here to build the ark.
10.45AM JILL: Our first proper argument. Robin says the base of the drawers is missing. He says he has checked the labels on all the boxes and they’re not there. ‘Are you sure?’ I ask him. ‘Yes! I’ve checked twice,’ he says. 'We need to ring Ikea.’ I decide to check the labels myself and find the bases in the first box I look in.
11 AM ROBIN: So far, Jill’s managed to break one of the sliders, knock several screws under the sofa (which I had to find) and trap my fingers in a drawer, which she insists was an accident (I have my doubts). I have therefore taken charge of the operation.
12 NOON JILL: Robin likes to think he has taken charge of the operation. We’re close to finishing the TV unit, but it has not been without incident. Blood has been spilled (Robin’s) and there have been several expletives (Robin again). I remain serene.
12 NOON ROBIN: I explain to Jill that my power tools are not toys. She’s nearly ruined our sofa by drilling screws into the unit while resting it on the cushions. For someone quite intelligent, she’s making the TOWIE cast look like members of Mensa.
1PM JILL: With the TV unit finally finished after ‘only’ four hours, we’re less than a third of the way through and I am worried that we could still be building this by the time our sixth anniversary arrives in December. If we ever get there.
1.30PM ROBIN: I’ve double-checked the instructions for the bookcases. These things are massive. We may have to move to a bigger house.
2 PM ROBIN: Professor Durvasula says: ‘Unfortunately, couples fall apart as soon as there are hammers, nails and Allen keys involved. In essence, putting together this furniture is like a pressure cooker. How do they behave when the stress is on?’
I can tell her exactly how my wife behaves and that’s to throw a screwdriver on the floor and shout: ‘You’re not listening to me!’ as I puncture the back of the bookcase with a screwdriver.
3 PM JILL: These units are incredibly heavy and we’re both shattered. To his credit, Robin is doing most of the lifting, but he gets cross every time I barge in when there is an ‘easy’ bit such as installing the shelves.
Breaking off for a bite to eat, we sit for a few minutes and discuss our previous experience of Ikea.
There is no denying its success is staggering. But Robin says he’s never liked the store, describing it as a labyrinth full of pregnant women. I don’t mind it. I pop into my local branch every couple of months but usually end up leaving with only tealights and a hotdog. I’m not sure I’d ever buy anything this intimidating.
4 PM ROBIN: We’re halfway through the first bookshelf. Jill’s main gripe seems to be the myriad screws and fixtures (we’ve screwed in the wrong screw to eight of the holes before we realise) and she’s stormed off to the kitchen to sort them out into colourcoded bowls so we don’t make the same mistake twice.
I’m not sure this unit should be dubbed ‘the Divorce Maker’ — perhaps ‘Widow Maker’ might be more appropriate. I’ve hidden the Stanley knife.
5 PM JILL: I hate this unit.
5.10PM ROBIN: I hate this unit and I’m beginning to hate my wife.
6 PM JILL: Robin is strangely silent as we assemble the second bookshelf. Sulking? Possibly. To its credit, Ikea does understand that flatpack furniture can create tension. ‘ Our product de develop products that are as easy as possible to assemble,’ says Emily Birkin, a sales manager for the store. ‘We test all products for ease of assembly in the Ikea test lab. However, we understand some people may find building flatpack furniture challenging.’
To this end, they do offer an assembly service for those who require assistance. No word as to whether they also offer counselling for post-traumatic stress.
7 PM ROBIN: I can’t believe we have been building a piece of furniture for nearly TEN hours. I bet scientists built the Hadron Collider in less time. The two bookshelves are made and now we just need to connect them with the ‘bridge’ of shelving. But it’s so heavy, Jill can’t keep it still as she holds it. It’s actually one of the best moments of the whole day as we can’t stop laughing as she tries to steady it. I think we’re on the verge of exhausted hysteria.
7.30PM ROBIN: As I screw in the supporting brackets to the bridge, I’m concerned that we have more than 50 ‘spare’ screws left. This can’t be right. Jill doesn’t appear worried. ‘Just finish the bloody thing,’ she hisses.
We’re in the final stages of building the Liatorp unit. It remains to be seen whether we’re in the final stages of our marriage.
7.45PM JILL: We’re finished. Finally. And we’re still speaking. Just. Ikea recommends that, once a piece of furniture is complete, couples should stand back and admire what they’ve achieved together.
Although we’ve had a few tense exchanges, in the almost ELEVEN hours it’s taken to construct this unit we agree t hat t he end r esult is impressive.
OK, there’s still the not- so- small matter of all those leftover screws — I am scared we have forgotten something vital, but the thing feels sturdy enough. Also, there’s a bit of a gap between the cabinet doors, which I’m sure we could have done better, given more time and experience. But, on the whole, I think we did a good job.
I nst ea d of basking in selfcongratulation, we’re so frazzled we can barely think straight.
What have we learned about each other? I’ve learned that Robin takes offence if I point a screwdriver in his face. He says he didn’t realise how many swear words I knew.
Apparently, 10 per cent of babies in Europe are said to have been conceived on an Ikea bed.
As we make our way wearily to our bedroom, it’s safe to assume that not one of those couples had just built a Liatorp storage unit together.
AS the May Bank Holiday arrives, millions of us are turning our hands to DIY. But for some couples, could that spell DIY-vorce? An Ikea storage unit has been dubbed the ‘ultimate relationship test’ by a couples’ counsellor, who says the 32page instruction manual and 169 screws required to assemble it could lead to arguments, frustration and even a break-up.
Can it really be that bad? The Mail asked Jill Foster, 40, and her husband of five years, Robin, 46, also a writer — who live with their twoyear-old twins, Martha and Charlotte — to put the monstrous, 7ft- high ‘ Liatorp’ storage unit together . . .
JILL SAYS:
Like any couple, Robin and I have had our ups and downs over 17 years as a couple. The arrival of our children put us to the ultimate test. We agreed that anything said between the bleary hours of midnight and 6am was inadmissible in the divorce courts. So a piece of furniture wouldn’t break us — would it?
This huge storage unit from Ikea’s Liatorp range has been dubbed ‘The Divorce Maker’ by professor of psychology Ramani Durvasula at California State University. As part of her ‘relationship therapy’ sessions, she sends couples away to make flatpack furniture together to see how they work as a team.
While a simple coffee table might not prove problematic, this 11ft x 7ft piece of furniture, which costs €945 is, according to Professor Durvasula, a ‘wall unit extraordinaire’. If you can survive piecing it together, you can pretty much survive anything. ‘Some pieces of furniture require two hands, two people, pieces of glass, making drawers,’ she says. ‘Because it requires so much collaboration, so much co-operation, and there’s a potential that someone could get hurt if this thing comes crashing down, you’d better be on the same page. It’s the ultimate test — if you can put that unit together, you can start planning your 50th wedding anniversary party.’
Robin and I have exchanged a few harsh words when it comes to DIY. While he’s very ‘willing’, he’s not always ‘able’ and anything beyond a Billy bookcase (Ikea’s most popular product) is beyond him. As I’m not prepared to have a go myself, I’ve often had to call in my dad to fix a problem, and that leaves my usband a little put out. But when it comes to actual arguments over DIY, we rarely have them because he now refuses to do any manual work if I’m in the house.
It seems we’re not alone. According to a 2013 survey of couples renovating their homes together, 12 per cent became so frustrated and angry that they considered separating or divorcing during the process.
In another survey of people who put together furniture with their partners, 17 per cent say they end up arguing.
Yet I know we have a strong marriage and we’re always saying we’re a ‘team’. We send the children off to the grandparents for the day and get to work. How difficult can it be?
ROBIN SAYS: There are few things that terrify me more than DIY. Job interviews, public speaking: nothing matches the dread that fills my heart when faced with an unopened flatpack. When my daughters were three months old, Jill ordered a pair of cots, which I naively assumed would be delivered fully assembled. When the flatpacks arrived I was secretly anxious, but the male ego soon kicked in. Reassuring my wife, I sent her and our babies to the in-laws, and with a surge of confidence, I set about the job.
But after five hours, several selfinflicted injuries and a storm of swearing that would have shamed Gordon Ramsay, the first cot was still only halfbuilt. Only then did I bother to read down to the bottom of the instructions, where I found the note: ‘This is a twoperson assembly.’
The psychological scars of that incident, and several others, are still fresh. Since then, we’ve moved to a bigger house and the DIY jobs have piled up.
Meanwhile, Jill’s innate bossiness and lack of patience have required me to enforce one simple rule: get her as far away from me as possible when I have a hammer to hand.
So I have my solicitor’s number handy as we embark on this Herculean project together.
9 AM JILL: The storage unit arrives in nine separate boxes. That’s nearly as many as we used when we moved house. It’s made up of two 7ft-by-3ft bookshelves with glass doors, a TV drawer unit in between and a ‘bridge’ of shelves hanging to connect the two bookshelves together. Isambard Kingdom Brunel would have been i ntimidated by its complexity.
Our first disagreement is which box to open first. I want to lay out all the individual pieces of the entire unit so we can see what we’re dealing with. Robin says this is ridiculous. ‘We need to be methodical, one section at a time,’ he says. I concur. In DIY terms, it’s best to lose the battle, then win the war.
10 AM JILL: We haven’t even started building the unit. Robin insists on reading all the instructions before we begin, like a particularly swotty Bake Off contestant during Paul and Mary’s blind test. I prefer a more intuitive approach. But as the manual says there are 22 different kinds of screw or bracket and 13 different pieces of wood that go into its assembly, my other half is not taking any chances.
Professor Durvasula says assembling flatpack furniture requires ‘communication, co-operation, collaboration and respect’, tools every relationship needs. As we’re still talking to each other, I guess one out of four isn’t bad.
10.30AM ROBIN:
Jill and I have different arguing styles. I like to have a reasoned discussion. Jill prefers the Brian Clough approach — to have