And by written, I mean actually written. With a pen, like in the old days.
Working in marketing and social media, much of my life revolves around the virtual world – emails, tweets, status updates – it’s all typey typey typey. This is fine, it’s my job, I understand it is the modern way, but at the same time I do have to acknowledge the fact that I am not quite of the internet generation.
For example, I would sill prefer to peer over my glasses at a copy of the Radio Times than to look on the television because, for some reason, in my hands the remote control turns into something unresponsive, and I take on the look of an elderly person trying to talk into the wrong end of a telephone.
I also like writing. Actual, physical writing. I know that between them my blackberry, laptop and netbook could provide me with all manner of whizzy time management tools, but I prefer to surround myself with physical list-making equipment that I trust not to delete itself. Here is a little corner of my office as evidence:
You see? I have everything I need – whiteboards, calendars, notebooks, nice pens, sparkling elderflower wine…
Call me old-fashioned, mock if you will, but as much as the mobile internet devices try to worm their way in, I will always be more excited by a large pack of whiteboard markers. Apple store or Staples? I know where I’d rather be.