The set of pink ‘ladies’ throwing knives (in faux croc scabbard) arrived via flying reindeer – from Texas actually – to be unwrapped on Christmas morning.
Well, they would have been unwrapped but after being asked for wrapping paper – and assuring himself that we had plenty – I discovered I’d lied. So it was just a box opening exercise.
Inside was all kinds of fresh delight. The very throwing knives I’d ordered. In PINK!!
So my man set about project managing a health & safety and efficiency-focused knife-throwing booth.
I’d need a contained area. Sides. It needs sides. A target (make that a LARGE target) and some form of permeable and soft flooring to prevent the pointy bit breaking when I inevitably wapped the floor with my crap throwing.
OK, fine. So I can’t start throwing practise until 1. I have the booth to prevent injury to various pets, husband, wildlife, passers-by and 2. know how to do it.
And there was the thing. I spent ages trawling the internet for knife throwing video explainers, classes in my area – you know the drill.
However there was nothing, nada, zip.
I checked the box again. No instructions. I flipped the box onto its side in a last ditch attempt to find some kind of nugget of help. There were three illustrations.
- a target
- a hand holding a knife by the tip
- a hand holding a knife by the handle
Hmm (raised eyebrow). So I can obviously swing both ways.
A friend asked me why I’d decided to take up knife throwing. I considered – and then it just came out. ‘I’ve got a bad knee, I don’t ride or ski any more because of said joint dislocated during said activities and felt I need a hobby with some edge. Plus, it’ll be a conversation piece at parties.’
Actually, I just really fancy having an out of the ordinary skill. Which is why it’s so galling I can’t find a teacher. Sort of darts but, like, way more Ninja, innit? And without the bitter.
Meanwhile, the man was down at the building suppliers ordering Jablite and some sort of polystyrene. The guy behind the counter asked him what the job was. Oh boy did JF enjoy explaining it was for his wife’s new knife-throwing booth.
I am now, officially, a tart with a dart.
A kind and lovely friend just found me this.
‘Tis a butch Russian from the KGB with v v scary knife. Now will need special knife-throwing trousers and poss oven gloves.