The other day I bought a lighter. Not just any lighter, but a Turboflame lighter (Turbo2). It's like a cross between a miniature blow torch and a light sabre. It is fantastic. I can't begin to say what a great thing it is.
I've never smoked, but it's always useful to have a lighter around for barbeques, candles and such. We usually have cheap disposable ones, although I do have zippo tucked away somewhere.
As with so many things, it's not so much about what it does, but how it does it, and its aesthetics as an object. A nicely painted cast alumumum body with a satisfyingly robust flip-top lid is a good start. The shape is vaguely remeniscent of a very small light sabre. But click the little button and you get two (yes two!) little jets of blue flame and a most satisfying hiss. The last time I saw anything that impressive it was the afterburners of a pair of RB199s on the back of Tornado jet fighter taking off.
As with so many objects of desire, it has a nice size and weight, fitting neatly into the palm of a hand and heavy enought to feel substantial. At 9 pounds sterling, it's not too expensive either - a Zippo will set you back twice as much at least, and whereas most other lighters will get blown out by any amount of breeze, with the Turboflame this is next to impossible.
I don't know whether my enthusiasm for the Turboflame indicates some kind of incipient mid-life crisis, or a developing addiction to
'boys toys'.
I prefer to think it's just the emergence of some primative instict - that finding satisfaction in the ability to make fire or build shelter is a connection to our ancesters. Just one step on the road to connecting with our inner Ray Mears.
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