Geoff the Duck is sitting quietly in a warm corner near to the Southern end of the bar. He is still re-setting his bearings, as the Mudcat Tavern was the last place he expected to find behind the thick oaken door he had recently discovered blocking his path. In fact, he had been in the dark so long that he had almost forgotten his original mistake of leaning too far over the outpulled drawer of a shiny new white ash dresser, down at the furniture warehouse.
It seemed like he had been there for years, what, with the weeks wandering through the winter rimed woods, past the ruins of the deserted castles, the extended sessions drinking with those strange creatures, half man and half goat with funny shaped balls, what did they call themselves? Ah yes! Rugby players...
Finally, he recalls, one day a wrong turn led him into a thicket, and as he turned round to go back to the woods, there seemed to be a distinctive noise and a strange light, the World seemed for an instant to have turned blue and clicky, and instead of the bushes, he was sudenly facing cold stone walls. He had found himself in a circular chamber with a domed ceiling. At intervals along the wall, there were doors. Each was diferent, one was varnished pine, another walnut veneer, a third was dark oak and yet another might have been fine grained plywood with a coloured stain applied expertly to make it look more expensive.
Realisation had suddenly dawned. The forest concealed somehow within the furniture must have been the Magical World known to the select few visitors as Ikea....