A Long Time Ago, in an Office Far Away
Well, not that far actually. I think it was Uxbridge.
I recently posted on Facebook about my dislike of biros – not in an existential way, I just don’t like writing with them. They are scratchy harsh things and I’d rather use a pencil. or a fibre-tip, or a rollerball, and especially my lovely fountain pen. Anything but a biro. Though I would draw the line at quill and ink, that’s a bit fiddly for a quick shopping list.
I do all my story plotting and planning with pen and paper, and this is where my fountain pen gets most use. There’s something about the line between mind. brain, eye, hand, pen , and paper that works well for me when I’m thinking.
So what’s Uxbridge got to do with it?* Well, many years ago I worked for a well-known global oil corporation. They had biros everywhere and I took agin them. Whenever I went into my boss’s office I brought a biro with me and would leave it on his desk. This went on for a while. Weeks, months. Sometimes I needed to talk to him two or three times a day.
One day I was in there and he needed to write something down. He opened his desk drawer and inside it there were dozens and dozens of biros. Black, blue, a few red, a rare green. The draw was deep and it was rammed full of biros. He looked down at it in bewilderment, hand on brow. Then he looked at me and said, ‘I don’t understand where they all come from.’
So, Ken, in the unlikely event you read this, it was me and I’m sorry. But only a little bit.
~
* What’s Uxbridge but a sweet old-fashioned notion?**
** Sorry.
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