'Have you got a Swiss army knife?' I asked Husband.
'No. One of the boys had one but I don't know where it is. I've got a sheath knife though from when I was in scouts.'
'You'd be arrested for that these days.'
'Fourteen-year-old boys needed to carry a knife in case they felt like whittling.'
'Or skinning a rabbit.'
Thirty minutes later it occurred to me: 'You weren't in the scouts. And I wouldn't have thought there'd have been many whittling sticks or rabbits on a housing estate in the city of Derby.'
Husband just grinned.
So I had to take a scissors on my walk with me deflecting somewhat from the frontiers-woman image I was hoping to create.
I wasn't planning on cutting down camellias or rhododendrons from Clyne gardens you understand. I just needed a bit of washed-up rope. As it turned out the scissors was next to useless but fortunately I found a stray length I can use.