When I was little, my father used to mend the family’s shoes and I would often keep him company in the cellar. He would give me an old last, a piece of leather and an old shoe and let me knock nails in with a toffee hammer! I never knocked one in straight and often ended up with sore fingers, but if I had to mend a shoe now, I could do it if it involved a piece of leather. I begged him constantly for a carpentry set like the one he bought for my nephew but my mother vetoed it so it never happened. I don’t think my grandson has ever had a hammer or a saw in his hands or, for that matter, a kitchen knife except when he has been here and helped me to cut up vegetables.