Saturday 20 December 2014

The blunt truth


It seems I am, at the moment, destined to buy knives for The Boy as Christmas presents, only to keep them myself. I shouldn't feel too guilty about this though, because not giving them to him as originally planned could - in a very direct way - avert a horrible accident or murder of the sort that often happens at this time of year. That's what I tell myself anyway.

I have a friend who used to give his two very young sons extremely sharp knives as presents to play with and use, on the basis that 'a blunt knife is more dangerous than a sharp one'. Well, in some circumstances yes, but it all depends what you want to do with it.

I bought this latest one in Lidl yesterday and it cost £6.99 as opposed to the £80 or so it would have cost in our kitchen shop. I love the way they have patinated the blade to a gun-metal grey, the same way as they used to with WW2 Commando daggers - so your victim stands less chance of seeing you creep up on them in the dark.

It is made - somehow - using ceramic as the core material, and once you have attained a razor-edge on ceramic, it is more or less there for good - unless you try to cut through other forms of ceramic. The instruction leaflet which came with it states that it should never need sharpening, but if it ever does, it should be taken to a professional who should use wet diamond on it, very carefully.

One of the best things about it is that it comes with a hard, plastic sheath, which means I can put it away in the drawer and not have to worry about losing a couple of fingers when I am rummaging around looking for it when pissed.

Last night, H.I. and me used the French Laguinole knives for the first time, and I can now say what I wanted to say to Cro the other day, but had no proof to back me up. They rest on the side of the plate very nicely, without flipping up due to the curve on the handles - you just have to put more of the flat part of the blade against the edge of the plate, DERR. I got the impression that Cro had - once, in the distant past - suffered the humiliating experience of having his knife flip through 90 degrees at a dinner party he was hosting for someone he wanted to impress, then threw the whole set away in the bin in anger before he even bothered to wash them up.

"What's that?" H.I. asked me when she saw the new knife sitting on the table still framed in the cellophane window of the box.

"What does it look like?" was my irritating response.

When she asked why I had bought it, I said that it was for The Boy, and added that I now wished I had bought two, because it was such a bargain that I wanted one for myself. She 'reminded' me that The Boy's mother had already bought him a whole set of kitchen knives - all stuck into a wooden block for safety's sake as they are stored on a work surface near the sink or whatever.

'Good' I thought, and unwrapped it, gloated over it for a bit, then sheathed it safely and put it into the draw with its new, dull friends.

A little later, we were listening to a harrowing report about the state of the inside of the military school in Pakistan where the 130+ children were murdered by the unspeakably inhuman Taliban killers, and H.I. said in a low voice, "The bastards."

"Am I a 'bastard'?" I asked in a worried tone.

"Sometimes."

15 comments:

  1. I've just been to check on my pronouncement, and again find that I was right. I think the weight of the handles probably affects their stability; mine are quite heavy. DERR.

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    1. Heavier than the stone handles of which mine are made? Are they cast in solid gold? Could it be more to do with the shape of your plates, perchance? Have you tried going that extra inch and pushing the knives a bit further onto the rim of the plate? (Don't you love to see two old men fighting?)

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    2. By the way, I have drawers full of blunt knives, so I might buy one of those Lidl ceramic ones, if my local one has them; I'll say that Tom sent me..

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    3. In my experience, Lildl carries the same stock all over Europe, but it changes constantly - be quick, I think!

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  2. Completely off the point, but last night I dreamt that John Gray had come to Bath to pay me a surprise visit. He was extremely shy and silent, and I felt overbearing and loud in his company. That is how I knew it was a dream.

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    1. And when he left we embraced whilst saying goodbye. I could feel his bony ribs through his thick overcoat. More proof - if it were needed - that it was a dream.

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    2. When you start to dream about John, you know it time you gave up the evil drink.

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    3. If he were to have the same dream, then I would.

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    4. What about if the dream had been about me?

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    5. It wasn't. What more do you need to know?

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    6. It was a joke. I expected you to say you would have run from the bedroom screaming or jumped off the Clifton Suspension Bridge. I note you are full of Christmas goodwill towards me.

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  3. Regarding that last question Tom. Don't worry about it - we all are at times.

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  4. So where were you boys last night when I was trying to hack off the neck of a chicken with my dull knife?! Fortunately it was dead already but a dull knife is much more dangerous. I screamed at the chicken, at my husband and at the president as he spoke continued nonsense on the radio, all the while spewing pieces of dead chicken all over the kitchen. A new sharp knife for Christmas please...anyone?

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    1. I would send one, but it wouldn't arrive in time, even if it were not blown up by customs in a controlled explosion.

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