Yesterday was a day of meanderings. Wittering around inside my head was that mind’s intrusion technique of:
‘You haven’t thought about it yet…..but I’m about to take you there!’
Mucking about with my fountain pens, I decided that I hadn’t a Parker of any use anymore. My wife bought me a beautiful Parker 95 in the late 1980s which developed a split by the nib in the ‘section’ part. This ultimately meant an ink leaking into the inside pocket experience. My dark brown cord jacket, that developed a beautiful faded ‘it’s lived a life’ patina, adopted an extra unwanted patina of darker nature! A naughty impish grinning stain. The cream ticking lining now has a blue map of an unknown country attached.
Parker! The Parker Duofold has always been a lusted after favourite. And I proffered an offer of £25 for a vintage Dark Green ‘N’ 14 carat gold nibbed AF button filler. About 13 cm long I believe. Looks like a hybrid though. Black barrel. Green cap and button filler cover at barrel base. Quirky! Lovely if so. Auction status starting at £18 or Make an Offer. A beautiful rendition of a Duofold. Hunky. Chunky. The offer? £25. I thought the seller would laugh! But….It was accepted! Don’t mind telling you that I Dad danced and made a triple ‘Whoop de Whoop de Whoop’ to the ‘Where’s your Momma Gone’ part of the tune of ‘Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep’ by Middle of the Road. Yes. I was that happy!
I also bit the bullet and took the 1930s Swan Marie Todd fountain pen apart. Fed up of ink lasting 1 and a half minutes after filling and then spilling out and blotting the paper with ink blots. That’s a lot of blots that ruin the ambience of a beautiful William Blake or heart felt poem written down landscape. Also. I didn’t want another jacket ruined. (See final photograph below). I had one solitary ‘hope it fits’ ink sac, some shellac in a bottle, bravado found and pulled up from a butterfly stomach and crossed fingers. And toes. Smooth as smooth job done in 15 minutes. The Gods had smiled on the wonderful Swan. Filling up and writing down with Sheaffer Green ink in the Swan produced thoughts that simply tumbled out onto the paper.
Please tap on individual images to enlarge.
A written down ‘Can you fall in love with an inanimate object?’ question (about the Swan new found beautiful performance) led to meanderings again. I thought ballet. Swan Lake. Playing the Tchaikovsky tune from the ballet, on a trumpet, in front of a school audience and producing notes that made me more embarrassed than if I’d have stood there in my underpants! Jeremy Gill, who was an expert trumpet player, was in duet with me. He actually showed me an awful lot of compassion after the event. Stout fellow. That act stayed with me forever. ‘I should be like that!’ I thought. The ‘Can you…..?’ questions became an idea. A blog theme maybe? ‘Can you imagine hugging someone for a full minute? Can you?’ That last ‘Can you?’ response? It gives a ‘Really! Are you sure.’ element and should be included as a regular end of question ‘seal’ ideal. ‘Can you write a full story in a single 1 inch white square? Can you?’ My daughter got many people to draw something in a single white square, then collected them all back for an art exhibition.
’Can you whisper 3 words that could change everything? Can you?’
Thoughts of blog themes actually do come from these meandering pen scribbles. And doodles. As a writer of written down individual lettering style, I am my own worst critic. The culmination of letters into words I frown at. However. As a writer of the actual collective words I freely admit that they often put a smile on my face at the realisation, upon reading them back, that there is often inanity in my head. So what! A world can exist and go places in headspace where it can’t go in real life. It’s like you’re sitting in a theatre and watching yourself perform craziness on a stage in front of your eyes. Separate and allowed. You can bring the curtain down anytime you believe the performance comes to a close. You’ve written a song that can be played and performed whenever you want. It doesn’t have to run as long as ‘The Mousetrap’. But it can be pulled out of the hat like a game of charades at Christmas time.
Sometimes in the calm of a beautiful window of ‘who knows who gave it to you, but it was freely given, so thank you’ time? You can chuckle at the word chuckle.