After my father passed I inherited his woodworking tools. A fascinating collection of planes, saws, spanners, drills, few of which I know much about. In his hands they were the tools of a craftsman. In mine they are objects of curiouslty.
He had been working on a bookcase for my Christmas and never got to finish it.
The smell of the wood and oils lingers long in the memory and with his name stamped on the side makes it still seem as though he is about to walk in and start using them.
I hear his voice in the background,
"You'd make a better door than a window", he would say to my younger childhood self as I gazed curiously over his shoulder, standing in front of the light source.
" Pass the Glaswegian screwdriver" was met with bemusement. Glaswegians have their own screwdriver?