Random acts of stationery #9

that’s not illegible or spidery. Everyone’s writ­ing style is uniquely their own, with their own embel­lish­ments, slants and quirks, askin to personality.

it’s nice to see that win­dow on the soul sometimes.

Are you plan­ing to sell these as Lim­ited edi­tion screen prints on ebay?

” Would all Graph­o­lo­gists please form an orderly queue”

I now get the dis­tinctly eerie feel­ing that my hand­writ­ing is being quietly ana­lysed from afar.

Not ebay, Andre. As with my recent series of post-it notes, my note­pa­per col­lec­tion will be get­ting its own exhib­i­tion at Tate Modern.

Beau­ti­fully writ­ten, my reli­able wit­ness, in both senses of the word.

eeh no, there shall be no ana­lys­ing from these here parts, one must be qual­i­fied in typo­graphy / crimi­ni­ology / cal­li­graphy for that lark?

someone else may though!

Thank you, the lamb. You are too kind.

And Kate — crim­in­o­logy? But apart from a few over­due and never returned lib­rary books, I am entirely inno­cent of any wrong­do­ing. And any­one who says oth­er­wise is a liar.

I think the police can safely elim­in­ate you from all burg­lary cases they may have.

that’s like see­ing you naked

mr wit­ness — i’m sorry if that soun­ded accus­at­ory in any way, it wasn’t meant to sound such! a small amount of alco­hol and a large amount of tired­ness has ded­ic­ated i will be con­fus­ing tonight, unfor­tu­nately i’m not sure what long word i meant, per­haps cal­li­graphy, but that already got said — oops!

if the police do come a-knocking, send them my way and i’ll get pro­sec­uted for doing illgal things instead. prob­lem solved!

Andre — I might have giant springs in this leg, you know. Per­fect burg­lary equip­ment, that.

Peach — I don’t know quite what to say to that.

Kate — No sorry needed. I used to be good at cali­graphy when I was young and innocent.

prob­ably best I don’t con­tinue, but I meant, you know, font free…

I thought my hand­writ­ing was unique. Now I see–not so much. Eerie. The arrange­ment of words, how­ever, is too fine to be mine.

Nice to see you whole­heartedly reject the dreaded curs­ive writing…designed to make primary age chil­dren and their par­ents curse aloud when it’s time for home­work. Does every let­ter really have to join to another one? Who makes these rules? Does it make writ­ing any neater, or dare I say it more enjoy­able? Or does it in fact dampen indi­vidu­al­ism — what the National Cur­riculum in fact does best. Your words, and hand­writ­ing, are lovely. Ten out of ten and two house points.

asta and seahorse — yes, us non-cursives must stick together. Annoy­ing teach­ers at school always told me that I had to write with joined-up hand­writ­ing because it would be quicker tak­ing notes and in exams and such like. I proved them wrong by just being a slow and metic­u­lous writer any­way. Er. Ahem. Oh dear.

i really really like your handwriting

can i bor­row it?

Very neat hand­writ­ing even though the thoughts might be muddled…

That’s much neater than my piti­ful scrawl. The little graph­o­logy I’ve read and retained says your overly rein­forced ini­tial caps mean you like to make a Big Entrance and be noticed. The stand­ard­ised let­ter siz­ing through­out the lower case means you’re quite guarded.

I think the fact that some of your let­ters sit above the line means you feel your­self super­ior but I’d not bet my beer money on my recall of that.

Annie — Of course you may bor­row it. Are you going to cre­ate a font out of it? Will I get a commission?

Ariel — Strangely enough, “very neat hand­writ­ing even though the thoughts might be muddled” just about sums me up. I think my teach­ers said that as far back as primary school.

Angelalala — All of that is right apart from mak­ing a big entrance. I’m shy and retir­ing, you know. I am very guarded (hence the obtuse blog entries) and I am, of course, ter­ribly ter­ribly super­ior. To everyone.

i like your hand­writ­ing. at least you can read it. why do you have the vow­els in the corner? did you for­get them honey? x

Oh Thank you Mr Unre­li­able Esquire
a font?!
YOU are the font
the font of all know­ledge
{bows}

I have a ruddy com­plex­ion, Annie. Oh yes. I am cer­tainly not blush­ing. Oh no. Def­in­itely not.

Don’t you do joined-up writ­ing, yet? Now I’m guess­ing you are about 8 years old.

And I got a BADGE — no, not a badger – at my blog. Go for a closer look at my latest post. A blog­ging book­let “How to Respond” will be avail­able shortly, for a small fee, upon request.

Coral