RANDOMNESS ALERT: This post is one of those random jottings / miscellaneous musings / domestic minutiae-type stories with no obvious economic / practical / scientific / spiritual value. But don’t let that put you off. It might just make your day. Or make you grateful that you have better things to do than those written about herein…
Back in December 2012 I waxed lyrical about the joy of a physical diary, sending letters through the physical mail and putting photos in a physical album, which activities I rather cleverly grouped under the banner of The Joy of the Physical. Fourteen months later, and I have to report not one but two deeply troubling issues in my world of physical, paper-based equipment. Both, happily, now resolved.
I still write a diary. On paper. With a pen. I had spates of doing this in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s, but then the PC came along and it all migrated to the word processor (as we used to call it). In 2005 I felt the call of the old-fashioned way and requested a big diary for Christmas. And every year since there’s been one; some A4, some A5, some week-to-page and some day-to-page. In the closing days of 2012 I lamented the lack of writing space for the weekend days in my 2012 volume and announced with satisfaction that for 2013 it was back to a page for each day. Sadly, at the start of this year I chose my own diary and again bought a compact week-to-page (or, more accurately week-to-double-page-spread). It again offered tiny space for Saturday and even tinier for Sunday.
Are you feeling my pain yet?
After two months I decided enough was enough (or, rather, not enough was not enough). I wanted more space to write. Because, based on previous years’ volumes, I suspected that the more space I had the more I tended to write. And then I had A Revelation.
Why, I asked myself, did I have to write in a diary at all? After all, diaries are primarily about forward-planning (like calendars, of which more anon). My scribbles, by contrast, are about retrospectively recording what is past (with, admittedly, some thoughts on things to come, but not from the point of view of scheduling or organising). What I write is a journal. Why attempt to predefine the maximum space for a day? Why, in fact, not simply write said journal in a notebook? Oh. My. Word. Why hasn’t anyone thought of this before? Oh, wait…
And so my first problem is solved. Hurray. But the tale, as they say, doesn’t end there. Because in December 2013 I was distraught to discover that W H Smith were out of stock of our usual style of calendar for the kitchen. Specifically: month-to-view with tear-off weeks so that as the month progresses you get to see the first half of the next month as well. Having used this style for many years I was loath to change but decided it really shouldn’t be that big a deal. It’s only a calendar, for goodness’ sake. Off to the market, then, and a 50p month-to-view calendar. “It’ll do,” thinks I. “Although the fact that it’s an inch longer than the usual style does mean it’ll have to be tucked behind the tea bag box. That’s fine. Fine. I don’t mind. It’ll do.”
So on the wall it goes. For those same two months, we made do. Didn’t like the fact that as January advanced we couldn’t see February. Didn’t like the fact that as January ran out, the calendar disappeared behind the tea bags. Didn’t like the repeat performance in February. Decided that, no, it won’t do. It really won’t. Back to W H Smith goes I, finds the correct style in stock at £1 off. That’ll do. This too is now in service and calendar-related well-being is restored.
What a relief.