Aeons ago, mother gave me a couple of good steel knives. One, stainless, did not stand the test of time. The other, though it is a mere shadow of its former self, still takes a good edge, and will see me out. I'm reminded of an episode of Doctor Finlay's Bookcase when Janet, having given a guest a dose of salmonella after failing to wash the knife after gutting the salmon, remarked: 'It's a good steel knife, Doctor Cameron! It gets a wipe...' On an impulse, I bought a knife from Fortnums a year or so ago, guessing it to be one of the fashionable ceramic jobs. Well, it turned out not only to be made of stainless steel, but also unsuitable for the dishwasher. Damn good knife all the same: it took a good edge when required, and had just the right length and shape of blade to make the preparation of a pot of broth a real pleasure. Bloody thing snapped the other day when I was drying it - gently, or so I thought: fortunately, no blood resulted. So, is built-in obsolescence finding its way into the kitchen?
Blood pressure went up for a while today when I was trying trying to make sense of various banks' online services. I finished up having to go into Disgustedville to expose my cyberinadequacy to the children at the bank. Mind you, they made a pig's tit of paying in a modest cheque, so later generations may perhaps lack earliers' skills.
I've been up to the compost bin with sundry peelings this afternoon, and en route see lots of stuff coming into life, notably bulbs in pots. A few stalwart primulas are shoving out flowers. Snowdrops, crocuses and daffodils are sticking their shoots up through the dead leaves, so we're on the way again.
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