I stand at the Arms and Explosives desk. The police officer brings Bubbles and Lofty in and rests the two pieces of metal on the on the flat wood.
I do not sit.
I am interviewed for a while, standing. My past, my future, my predicament, the design of the tools, their importance, why I need them, my love for both knives, how you make them, now the weather, airline food, flight times...
The police officer hands me a pen. I sign whatever.
He lifts Lofty and Bubbles up from the desk with two hands, and hesitates. Is it the weight? Does he believe me? Is this going to bite him in the arse? Before I can guess he slowly extends them towards me and puts them in my hand. Is this me getting my knives back? We shake hands and I thank him profusely. It bloody well is.
Back at the flat I inspect every last millimeter of the razor sharp edges, holding the bevels to the light again, checking the grips again. They are perfect. I'm all smiles. It's back on.