I do not possess a torque-wrench. I have never possessed a torque-wrench. It is one of the many ways in which I have failed to express that particular masculine ideal which involves a tool for every job and an intimate knowledge of how it should be deployed.

Now, clearly, being conversant with tools is but one way of articulating manhood and I have never regarded it as especially central to my identity.

I am not, in short, ashamed of not possessing a torque-wrench.

But it does bother me when my bike doesn’t work, because I built it; and when it doesn’t work it is my fault. And on Monday, my crank-set jammed because my bottom bracket had begun to unscrew, and all because I had not applied the correct torque in fitting it.

For want of a torque wrench

Simply put, my bike would not go; and I found myself carrying it half a mile to a bike shop where I threw myself on the mercy of an unmistakably torque-wrenchy man. (By the grease under their nails shall ye know them).

And the man with the torque-wrench helped me.

With nothing but good grace, understanding of my plight, and non-judgemental expertise, he brought torque-wrench and crank-extractor to bear, and we fixed the bike together.

Now, because I like to think of myself as a bit bikey, as someone who should do this stuff for myself, l was embarrassed to seek his help.

And yet I am, bluntly, an art historian.

Why would I also be a torque wrench guy?

There’s a story near the beginning of the Bible, which tries to explain, in mythical terms, why were not all good at the same things. In the story, three brothers, Jabal, Jubal and Tubal-Cain give rise respectively to all the farmers, all the musicians and all the tool guys.

Tubal Cain has a torque-wrench. Jubal the harpist does not.

But the story is useful for more than explaining the straightforward differences between our skills and aptitudes; for it does not judge their relative value.

And that, in light of my sorry torque-wrench inadequacy, is oddly comforting.

For if we were all torque-wrench people, then who would feed us?

And if we were all farmers, from where would we get our songs?

And if we were all singers (or art historians), how would we ever prevent our bikes from falling to pieces?

For some reason, you cannot listen to this Pause on BBC Sounds. Sorry.