If only...

I have this thing about mechanical pencils. Actually, I have this thing about stationery in general. As a child, I'd look forward to Saturday afternoon when I could catch the bus into the city, or walk to the local shopping precinct and peruse the shelves of the stationers. I was particularly fond of the local stationers because it was also a tobacconist which sold pipes made of the most beautifully turned wood. It was a fascinating place for me and I'd spend a good amount of time in there while I decided what to spend my pocket money on for that week.

I remember particular felt tip pens and mechanical pencils where the thick lead was gripped in a vice-like mechanism, rather than the more sophisticated designs of those you can buy today. Then there were the notebooks, pads of drawing paper, drawing pencils. Heaven.

My fascination with office supplies grew through my childhood and has stayed with me since. Being a university student opened up a whole new world of possibilities - I discovered the Oxford Magna Pad, which came in both narrow (blue) and broad-ruled (green) varieties. My small, intricate handwriting was always lost within those broad spaces, so I'd naturally opt for the blue Oxford note pad.

In my second year, I shared a house with fellow students who I'd met as a fresher. Kathman! (from Sunderland) had decided that it was OK for her boyfriend Keithman! (self-styled bo-ho artist layaboy, also from Sunderland) to come and live with us all - she'd asked one of our friends and her approval was seen as being universal. Kath and Keith had been to Ireland, man, during the summer vacation and they'd discovered all things Celtic and Van Morrison, Van Man. Unfortunately, Kath and Keith had the bedroom above mine and they enjoyed regular noisy sex. "Oh, Keith MAN! MAN KEEEEITH!!!", the cries drifted through the floor into my bedroom a few nights a week. It was OK though, they were enjoying themselves, it was amusing rather than intrusive and I had other things to think about... like studying, surprisingly enough. Oh and drinking. But anyway I still enjoyed nipping into the University Union shop on occasion and replenishing my supplies of paper, pens, pencils, whatevers. I returned home from lectures one evening to find Kathman, Keeeeeeeithman and a couple of other friends already in the kitchen (they were arty types and only did about 12 hours of lectures each week - apart from Keeith, who pretended to be sensitive and artsy). I proudly showed them my latest stationery purchase, a hard-backed lab book, square ruled, beautiful.

"Tina-man," Kath exclaimed, "I swear you love stationery so much that you get an orgasm every time you go into that shop.... man!"

"Well, Kath," I retorted, eyes shifting between her and Keith "at least I don't get an orgasm every time I go to bed!"

I still can't think whether that was a witty or ridiculous thing to say - a bit of both, most probably.

It's Moleskine notebooks these days. I buy them, but rarely write in them. And mechanical pencils too. I love them.

Some might accuse me of having an unhealthy obsession with stationery items, that my love of them might be indicative of being somewhere on the autistic spectrum. Well, you know what? If I was on the autistic spectrum, I'd be able to remember where I left my favourite new mechanical pencil that cost me a fiver that I put somewhere and can't bloody find!