Ode to Stationery

Liberty London

Can you walk past a stationery shop without going inside? I can't. The lure of colourful notebooks packed with thick, creamy paper, and the pull towards the display of heavy, solid fountain pens is just too much. I crave a sharpened pencil and positively drool over the array of erasers sculpted in every shape imaginable. I have to touch and smell each one, breathing in the scent like a woman possessed. 

 

I'm wondering if I have a problem. I mean, is this normal? Should I be seeking some sort of therapy? Or, perhaps the stationery in itself is therapy for me. Some people love dogs, others prefer sultry, exotic locations, I like stationery; purring over it like a cat savouring a delicious mouse.

In times of stress, when I should be reaching for my bible, my fingers will be drawn to my pen and notebook, the synergy between skin and implement vibrating. The surrounding atmosphere crackling with energy. And, depending on the stationery selected, one can determine my stress levels; a mere irritation might snatch up a biro whereas a plummeting heart ravaged with torment will likely reach for Smythson or Liberty (yes, a Smythson notebook over Cartier jewellery any day).

As the words splash from the nib, (each letter perfectly formed, rounded and neat, the ink is uniform and constant in flow) the act of writing is spiritual, reverent. It is a homage to creation and our creator. I look back over the satisfyingly, filled page, a small gasp of delight escaping from between my lips. It doesn’t even matter if the sentences are nonsensical or the grammar haphazard. Oh no, this is simply the sheer joy of handling the tools. An act of worship between me, God and my glorious stationery.