"What have you been using this knife for?"

I looked at the dangling blade and at Daniel.

"Cutting olives," I said innocently.

"Olives?! This is one of my good knives! It's a specialised knife!"

"What, so special that cutting an olive will ruin its sensitive blade?"

"It's a filleting knife. Look - it bends, see? It bends because it's a filleting knife."

I'll save us all some boredom by cutting out the boring bulk of the ensuing discussion. The summary is: blah blah blah, it's a filleting knife and thus should only be used for filleting. (Why?) Because it just is. It's a discussion we've had before and no doubt one we'll have again, as I'm sure I'll soon find a new example of inappropriate produce with which to sully it.

We continued to tidy up the kitchen and Daniel, this time with confusion more than accusation, picked up the meat tenderiser that had been lying on the bench. There was a yellowish mush caked on one side of it.

"What were you using this for?" he asked, mystified. A fair question, as we haven't had any meat for dinner in about a week.

I fell into a fit of helpless laughter at the realisation of how absurd my next answer was about to sound.

"Smashing cheese," I whimpered between giggles.

And that has been pretty much the highlight of the past week. OK, we did drive 5 hours to be in Jindabyne for the long weekend, but really, the sentence "arsed around a bit" doesn't make for great blogging. Nor does smashing cheese, I suppose, but there you have it.