WiriWiri
Senior Member
I thought I had this craving under control. After collecting J knives for over ten years, I had finally achieved a sense of contentment with my oversized selection of konos, azais, takedas, hattoris, TFs (ordered direct twice, even got the free branded teatowel and complimentary flip flops*) and other blades. I also have two small children, a demented mother, an allotment and grow/make pepper sauce, distractions aplenty to push the constant desire to upgrade well into the background.
This place may be a hotbed of glistening steel temptations, illustrated with blatant, deepest-blue tinged, knife money shots, but I was now strong enough to be able to dip into this forum and lurk vicariously, secure in the knowledge that my search was done, For many, many years I was successful, leaving no overt trace and staying well in the background: as a typical South Londoner (born in Brixton, Caribbean mother, wear hooded jackets on top of hoodies), taking unusual interest in big knives tended to lead to funny looks. My old front door still bears the scars of the boys in blue‘s sudden interest in my hydroponically grown plant collection - chillies you tossers - and I didn‘t need any further unwarranted attention to be honest.
I’m not entirely sure when I lost control. Something seeped in anyhow, consciously finding myself unable to resist the eternal 210vs240 debate and the strange belief that a man really needed more than 5 gyutos. And from there it was a short step to buying the sixth (a maz, on offer in Blighty for the first time, destiny) and beginning to justify the magnificent seventh. And then the eighth, muttering and frothing to the ’workhorse’ mantra.
Balls. So here I am, cover blown and reticence broken, fair game under the ‘can‘t beat them, then join em’ programme. I blame you lot and COVID, or more seriously working from home and losing the fond embrace of the pub has left me far more time to cook and ponder the next unicorn, and also to realise that I’ve neglected sharpening and still have much to learn.
Go easy on me. I’m in, but I still want to delude myself that I’m beyond being influenced into buying more unnecessary knives and this is all about learning, honest.
*Ok, so I may have slightly imagined the flip flops here. To be fair, TF‘s smugface packaging was haunting enough to disturb my sleep for an unhealthy while
This place may be a hotbed of glistening steel temptations, illustrated with blatant, deepest-blue tinged, knife money shots, but I was now strong enough to be able to dip into this forum and lurk vicariously, secure in the knowledge that my search was done, For many, many years I was successful, leaving no overt trace and staying well in the background: as a typical South Londoner (born in Brixton, Caribbean mother, wear hooded jackets on top of hoodies), taking unusual interest in big knives tended to lead to funny looks. My old front door still bears the scars of the boys in blue‘s sudden interest in my hydroponically grown plant collection - chillies you tossers - and I didn‘t need any further unwarranted attention to be honest.
I’m not entirely sure when I lost control. Something seeped in anyhow, consciously finding myself unable to resist the eternal 210vs240 debate and the strange belief that a man really needed more than 5 gyutos. And from there it was a short step to buying the sixth (a maz, on offer in Blighty for the first time, destiny) and beginning to justify the magnificent seventh. And then the eighth, muttering and frothing to the ’workhorse’ mantra.
Balls. So here I am, cover blown and reticence broken, fair game under the ‘can‘t beat them, then join em’ programme. I blame you lot and COVID, or more seriously working from home and losing the fond embrace of the pub has left me far more time to cook and ponder the next unicorn, and also to realise that I’ve neglected sharpening and still have much to learn.
Go easy on me. I’m in, but I still want to delude myself that I’m beyond being influenced into buying more unnecessary knives and this is all about learning, honest.
*Ok, so I may have slightly imagined the flip flops here. To be fair, TF‘s smugface packaging was haunting enough to disturb my sleep for an unhealthy while
