My flatmate scares me a little. She’s a really lovely girl, but her idea of retail therapy worries me somewhat. While most women quench their thirst for shopping with a nice pair of shoes or a trip to the manicurist, this lady buys knives – big, sharp, expensive knives, made from scary cold steel, the kind of knives that turn up on Crimewatch. Tonight she came home with two new blades, each the best part of a foot long, and lovingly toyed with them on the sofa as I nervously tried to watch The Osbournes.
I guess I’m lucky she’s a chef. Or at least that’s what she tells me.