under another sun

On Typewriters and Romy Locked into the office all day, racing the clock with The Gnome. More stress, more blah-blah to cap off the two day session. Restless at home. No more Fraziers to watch so I busied myself tidying things and looking forward to getting my paws on a new computer. Not having a computer has forced me to sit about in my new study scratching at pieces of reconstituted wood pulp with coloured sticks. It made me remember when taking a typewriter to Guernsey and tapping away on it upstairs in my grandparent's house made me feel like a real writer. When I was about 14 I came across a green typewriter that had been left with my mum by her Auntie Kay. One day I decided to have a go on it, and needing something to type I simply made up my first poem. It was slow going because I couldn't type. But seeing my words neatly typed was deeply satisfying. Using a typewriter was a very physical experience. There was the snick of the key hitting the paper, and the bell to let y...