Well here is the hammer story.
In the sixties, long before I was born, my uncle was in a terrible car accident. While one of those in the car did not survive, my uncle did, possibly due to the generous rear parcel shelf in the VW Beetle, but he was brain damaged. He lived with us for a time. He worked for the State Electricity Commission who took responsibility for his rehabilitation.
He worked in a machine shop for a time to improve his fine motor skills as part of his rehab and made the hammer. I keep it only for sentimental reasons and I have a proper wooden handled claw hammer to use. The steel one is heavy, hence the holes drilled in it to make it lighter, it is unbalanced, badly angled and the claw does not work.
It is perhaps useful for tapping someone on the scone with or breaking a brick, but hopeless for driving in a nail.
I am just thinking, no wonder Mother does not want to cook anymore. She cooked for my father, two of his brothers, four children and often her parents too, plus other visitors or house guests.