An oldie but a goodie

I went shopping today in hot pursuit of a diary, amongst other things. I really have the most dreadful handwriting and, in a diary of the handwritten variety, require two things – ruled pages and decent paper. Ruled for a pretence of neatness and good paper because, well, poor quality paper is so uninspiring to write on. I am not a particularly good diarist, tending to purchase pretty books and barely fill them in before moving on or simply forgetting about them, but I am presently quite inspired. It may be that I’ve watched Bridget Jones a few to many times lately (the proliferation of late night game shows will send me to an early grave or, perhaps, force me to do something other than watch tv) but I feel the need to write and think, or perhaps the reverse. My motivations, however, are not all that relevant to the post I was going to write before I got lost in why-I-need-a-special-diary. Let us take it as a given that having decided to diary I set forth to find the perfect book. Or, at least, a halfway reasonable one. I set forth today with good intentions and with an idea of how difficult it is to find a book that fulfils my criteria. I visited specialty shops whose prices and staff had me running for the exit. As it happens, I do not want to pay one hundred dollars for something that I am going to fill with the written equivalent of effluent. It seems a little wasteful. I also do not want to be treated like a (terribly fat and conspicuous) thief. Treating me like a thief will not encourage me to buy your over-priced and frequently ugly wares. In desperation, I eventually headed to Dymocks stationary shop where I know they don’t carry anything I really want – diarywise of course, otherwise – it’s stationary pant pant. And there I found the book that, if not entirely perfect, will certainly do really very well. A Moleskine, can you imagine? With a packet of black Kilometricos.