Right now, I wonder whether I am going mad, or have gone mad, and it is all because of a penknife. A nice red Swiss Army Knife. You know what they’re like, I don’t have to describe it. It’s got a decent number of blades and tools on it, it’s not one of the cheap or tiny ones. The problem is, it’s not mine. And I have no idea how I came by it. And it’s not as if I need one. I already have two.
The first is an item of great sentimental value. It was my children’s present to me on the first Christmas I spent having been ejected from the family home. I used to be slightly worse than average at losing items such as keys or penknives or Zippo lighters but ever since that exile, and my understanding that I shall be travelling light in the world for the rest of my life, I don’t lose things like that now. When one has very little one clings to it fiercely. When I mislay something valuable and then find it again I put it to my lips and kiss it, like a child.
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