Tag: fountain pens

Buying a fountain pen

I promised myself upon finishing writing my memoir, I would reward myself with something extravagant. Something that would last and be cherished, an item of beauty. I decided upon a fancy fountain pen to mark the occasion. It seemed a fitting purchase for someone who loves writing.

I finished the memoir six months ago now, but the time never felt right to spend money on an indulgence. Something more pressing always came up. Then, about two months ago, I took the plunge and began to research the pen that I would eventually buy. I looked at a number of luxury brands and chose a slightly lesser-known English company which offered a range of limited-edition bespoke pens. The one I eventually ordered had the advantage of offsetting some of the profit to a charity I was keen to support.

I couldn’t wait for the pen to arrive. As each pen is individually crafted, it took over six weeks to make and then I had to wait for the shipment from London. I was so excited to pick it up from the post office I wanted to unpack it there and then. But reason prevailed and I carefully unpacked my treasure at my desk. It came in a stunning black leather box, complete with a certificate of authentication, ink, and detailed instructions. When I removed the pen, the first thing I noticed was its weight. It felt very light and small in my hand. The body was made of resin, yet in parts it looked almost translucent. I felt a little disappointed, as I was expecting something akin to the sturdy Bakelite pens of the 1920s. Then I filled the pen and began to write. The 14c gold nib dragged across the paper and at times the ink didn’t keep up with my writing. I could hear it scratch along the paper and I knew the sound itself would be enough for me never to want to use it.

I swapped over to my trusty Lamy Studio fountain pen which I bought in Zürich about 15 years ago for about quarter of the price. It floated effortlessly across the page. I enjoy writing with it, and it has never let me down. Sure, it looks well-worn, and the patina of the bronze coating is clearly visible, but I love this pen. Why did I think I needed a replacement?

I think my motivation was that I wanted something new and shiny. Yet I love every old piece of furniture in the house with a unique story that can be traced through marks and stains. I still use the fifty-year-old pencil case my father made and every time I hold it in my hands, the worn leather fills my heart with gratitude for this object. Surely, my old Lamy is no different.

Once I realised that I was both disappointed with the new pen and with myself for not questioning my motivations, there was no other choice but to send it back and request a refund. I am not good at doing this. I was very factual and clear with my feedback and returned the item. I have lost some money on the postage, but I have gained a valuable insight about myself. This experience has taught me that I already have what I need, and that it is enough. More than enough.

Stationery obsessions

I used to think I was the only one who couldn’t resist Milligram, Larry Post or Bespoke Letterpress. It turns out I was wrong.

I have often joked that I could keep a whole village supplied in stationery for six months if not a year. However, visiting my friend J. in Sydney made me realise that my obsession is small fry.

I may have enough ink cartridges to last a few years for my two fountain pens, but he has ink cartridges in a variety of colours for his ten stylographic pens. He opens toolboxes filled with nibs in various thicknesses, mechanical pencils and leads and unopened packets of Rollerball pens to show me.  He wins. It’s a laydown misère in a competition I never expected to enter.

It makes me wonder about my compulsion to buy yet another writing pad; I drafted this post on a newly purchased Japanese jotter. It is gridded, not lined, and has a small diagonal cut on the bottom left corner. I wrote in violet, using the same-coloured pen that my late uncle loved. Each of these items feels gratifying to admire and hold. Yet when placed with all the other stationery supplies vying for attention in drawers or shelves, they become part of the overwhelm of ‘too much stuff.’

‘Can I offer you a pen, some ink, or a nib perhaps?’ J. asks with exasperation in his voice. He is frustrated by his own inability to say ‘no’ to his stationery obsession. I look at him with compassion because I know that temptation to buy one more item only too well. I don’t submit to it with clothes, make-up, or jewellery but I can’t resist stationery or books. It takes every bit of my willpower to walk past a bookshop and I try so hard to avert my eyes when I come across boutique stationers.

What is it about a beautiful pen or good quality paper? I am a highly tactile person and get much pleasure from feeling the way a pen sits in the crook of my hand and how it glides effortlessly across quality paper. I enjoy looking at parchment which is easy on the eye. If I had my way, all notebooks would be buff rather than glaring white.

Then there are the evocative smells. You may prefer the scent of Chanel No 5, but for me there is nothing quite like the aroma of a newly opened ink bottle or the smell of an old notebook. It turns out I am a stationery geek. And friends, there’s nothing wrong with that.