I can’t walk past a stationary shop. I find it physically impossible. The velvet smooth cover of a hard-bound notebook, a seductive hint of squared paper, trays overflowing with pens for the testing: they lure me in.
The greatest of all my stationery fetishes is for fountain pens.
I love them.
In a disposable world, where ballpoints are bought in packs of a dozen and discarded when spent, fountain pens are crafted to last. My oldest fountain pen has been with me for almost 20 years. We are so used to one another that it feels like the words dance from the tip of my mind to the tip of the nib without the need to involve nerves, muscles and tendons.
In a digital world, where letters appear fully formed at the tap of a key, there’s something magical about watching them form under your hand as metal slides over paper. Mmm mmm, yummy.
I did say it was a fetish. 🙂