When I was very young, I think I was 10, I got my first fountain pen. It was a requirement of the school that we learn to use one properly (before you even think it – no, I’m not 20000 years old – I went to a very amazing, liberating school in my childhood) and I couldn’t wait to get one – I was already addicted to peacock blue ink. You see, I was something of a Teachers’ pet – by which I mean that I was the pet of all the teachers in that school. By the time I was 7 they (the teachers) had already bought me a peacock blue ballpoint pen – and I was the only one allowed to use pen at all.

I digress.

I loved using that fountain pen, even though it was the cheapest possible one, and was a colour I loathed (navy blue, for reference). Using it meant to me that I was an adult. And it seemed to me that things written with my fountain pen were more important, more profound than ordinary words written in ordinary ink. While others whined, I adored using it.

Obviously then, I want another one. This time though, I want a really good one. A stupidly beautiful one. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not talking about something expensive – I’m talking about a pen that looks beautiful and that writes beautifully in my opinion. Finding one will probably take a while, but I have time. I can wait.