Ikea is no country for older women

I took my son to Ikea this week.

He’s about to sign a lease on a flat of his own. His first real home, and I’m as delighted for him, as I am heartbroken for me.

How can the boy who bawled at poor old Charlotte, stoically meeting her fate at the end of Charlotte’s Web, the nervous five-year-old, who stood at the garden gate waiting to welcome friends to h…