Writing's on the Wall!

I see now that kids in Finland are no longer to be taught handwriting skills at school, the reason being that it just isn't necessary anymore. It's all about fingers and touchscreens and asking Google nowadays, so there's no room for the pen. At first I was shocked when I read the news but when I think of it now, I suppose it's just another life skill, another redundant technology, going by the wayside as the march towards the utter consumerisation of mankind forges ahead. But seeing the pen's nib dry out for once and for all is hard to take just the same. It's probably because it has always been a potent symbol of resistance and defiance and thus to see its influence wane maybe is to concede some level of defeat, some personal disenfranchisement. But I suppose our forbears may have felt the same when papyrus took over from the tablet and I suppose too that those who come after us will one day rue the loss of the things that replaced the things that replaced the things.

But I loved pens, and fountain ones especially, partly because of their pose value but mainly because of the way they phattened my handwriting and made it look more authoritative - i.e. less scrawny - a vital illusion when it came to applying for jobs or when sending greeting cards to prospective girlfriends (well, okay, maybe not!) Indeed for years and years I used to sign any important papers with the same feisty Waterman guzzler, the confident look of the signature it created (as on that Bulgarian timeshare contract for example) proving to everyone that I was no mug!

Anyway. I was buying some stationery in town the other day and I noticed a bottle of Quink on the shelf which poked me into remembering that I hadn't really used the fountain pen for a fair while. So I bought the gunge and brought it home and after dying my hands dark blue, staining the table, the ceiling, the windows, the floor and my white shirt as I filled the cartridge, the old pen's blood started to circulate again.

I decided to write. I started with my signature and followed it by the words 'is cool' and then I tried to write a full paragraph - about nothing in particular. Before I'd written even thirty words my grip was gone, my wrist was sore, the writing was uneven and anyone reading it would have thought that I'd just drank ten pints. Jesus, I thought, I can't write anymore. And that frightened the sh*te out of me until it dawned on me that the last time I'd written anything other than my signature with a pen would have been as long ago as ... eh ... ten to fifteen years. At least!

Another Eureka moment. There's me moaning about the demise of the pen until I realise I haven't used one in three or four World Cups. The reason: because it is easier and handier and quicker to type. The evidence of this speaks for itself. Whether we like it or not the writing is on the wall for the old pen and has been for a while. And even if sandwich boards and whiteboards and chalk boards may give it cause to hold out for a while longer, the fingers and flat screens are only waiting in the wings. Then there'll come the full stop and the cap will be doffed for good.

More soon ...

Motivation training, yesterday!