Philopines And Goiter

LAME IS A PASSION!

Lame, that passion.
Oh really? Anyone who knows me knows that "I like knives." Anyone who knows me knows that in detail I do not make a reason for living, those who know me "forever" also knows that it is a relatively recent passion.
If you do not try to pull the knives, in general, you can not understand this post.Intanto begin to lay the foundations of discourse: a good knife, considered as covered by well-finished, made by a craftsman, capable, and has a certain "design" can not remain indifferent. From child to adult entirely outside of any topic relating to the collection and use of knives.
The reason you do not know how to explain myself. People with a naive approach to blades, generally speak of "charm of the object." A mixture of respectful fear (<>) and attraction for any commercial value that can avere.I more sophisticated, as in any self-respecting passion, they may lose the entire state in which minute this is why the knife / blade has such value / appeal / utility / history, in most cases with very personal and unfounded speculation. But the beauty is just that ... ;-)
I am a "fan" blades atypical. Atypical because I do not care of many rituals, and study details the history of certain types of knives / spade.Anzi are damn monothematic: I possess any sharp tool, and all I used them to make sure that qualcosa.Già knives you will not offer, and then I have to hang them ... (someone makes the speech exactly the opposite: it is expensive already, if he does not spoil them to use them ..).
My only personal quirk is that ten Leatherman PstI year round with a belt. Always and everywhere, including vacations in America.

But let's start from principio.A fifteen when I started making the trek worthy of the name, I decided that I needed a decent knife. In that decision, an accomplice of a book my older brother to survive (so fashionable in the mid-80s). The book was the legendary SAS Survival Handbook "Lofty" Wiseman, still on this milestone, and has trained numerous British Special Forces operators, but also our home. At the time, of course, any notion of fasting on the design of the knives, metallurgy and blade market, I went around Cycling cutlery stores in my town. I was fully aware of the thinness of my assets, but I was absolutely determined to get me knife "Survival." Luckily I had not seen the film Rambo which was released (and had gone mad in the collective) a couple of years ago. Boasted a form of snobbery against those who had seen my little friends, accompanied by their parents, the film of Stallone. A little 'as if a teenager today was not even proud of not sending a text message a day. But just like a teenager without a mobile phone in 2008, my friends in 1985, made me feel diverso.Per "bias" I hated anything that could be attributed to the concept of "Rambo knife". To this day makes me laugh, it offends me and ill tolerate a person who categorizes a tactical Steak Knife with the phrase "What is it? Rambo's knife? ".

So imagine this scene: in a cutlery shop, at that time run by a friendly old man, a little boy who enters her voice in the midst of pre-testosterone, asks: "Hi, I want a knife SURVAIVAL, with a jagged ridge, neck cord and does not look like the Rambo knife. "With great professionalism
cutler cashed the request, and by treating the little boy as a collector forty in the mood to pass out, introduced him to the newly produced by the M16 Bayonet Buck. 200,000 pounds in 1985 were not crumbs. The little boy, stammering a "goodbye" embarrassed he did an about-face embarrassed and left the store. Another figure from chocolate and heart kidnapped by a beautiful blade. The cutler had also lost 5 minutes of your time to pull the knife from the box and show it, without letting it touch the boy.

After several weeks of pure frustration, we tried again. I introduced myself in a store that sold "strange things". Today I would say it was a shop selling hunting / fishing / archery / martial arts disguised as a grocery store and Sali & Tabacchi. This time I changed my tactic: I looked at the window and tried to actively do something that would suit me fine. And I found him right away. He was big, bad, dull gray and leaning on his black plastic sheath. And next door a reassuring reported that its price tag with a spelling uncertain Lira 60.000.Fu love at first sight: If you see a knife from the truth, you know immediately if it makes your case. After twenty-one are still not convinced of this. I made the choice and Mrs. giusta.Entrai looked up absently from the newspaper he was reading, and took the cigarette from his mouth. I attacked them with a "Tell me, Nani." For those not Parmesan, dwarves is the term for "naive little boy." "Good morning, I want that knife, "and pointed the knife in the window. The woman looked at me and pulled the old cigarette a second, then said: "What, you want the Rambo knife?" "Yes," I learned in life that compromises are sometimes unavoidable. Limping the little woman went to the window and I immediately gave up the knife. I had never picked up before a beautiful, thick, manly and sharp reproduction of a Chinese American survival knife. The Buckmaster. "Inside the neck thou hast matches, fishing hooks and other stupid things," said the little woman who was piercing me with his eyes. Then he added, "thou hast also the tips that are screwed into the handle for" " What for? "Boooh, but you take it, dwarfs?" "Yes," The woman went to check out the Steak Knife diligently and put in its scabbard, and then finally in a box wrapped in white newsprint. "Nani, this do not see the alert. "He said a neutral voice.
"No, no ..." "There are 60,000, there did you?" At the time I had a nylon wallet with velcro, very fashionable at the time, with the inside of the photo ... Morosina? Smear: Swarzennegger in the Commando Robocop ... and I was 15, eccheccazzo! I pulled out six sheets blue ... the mythical 10,000 lire. The woman stayed in it almost hurt. Months and months of pocket money and savings birthdays. I had a lot of money home! Given the money, which at the time handled as if they were filthy dirty sheets, or taking notes with two fingers, I shoved the little woman in a nondescript white envelope package. "Hello, dwarves." I went to that store. With my first knife military survival.

I do not know what had occurred to him that lady on that sunny afternoon in 1985, but seventeen years later that "dwarves" have participated in the design of a soldier's knife for submission to the ninth "Col Moschin. It all started by a young woman smoker who did not scruple to sell a "Rambo knife" a little boy. Thank you, little woman. :-D