Secretly, I want to be a journalist when I grow up. Not so secretly anymore. I blame this desire for my obsession with notebooks. Janell waxed lyrical a few weeks ago about a gift of a blank notebook and all the promise it held. I soooo get that.
I've got notebooks all over the house, in my handbag, in the car, on my desk, in drawers. I've got notebooks where I collect all magazine clippings about far away (and not so) places I want to travel to and places I will stay and eat whilst I am there. Other notebooks collect my interior designing inspirations. Another notebook contains DIY and renovation project plans. Another for collecting quotes and poetry. Another for general magazine articles that I have ripped out to save and have no where else to put. I have one notebook where I write ideas for things to do with the children on weekends. The most used notebook is where I write books that I want to read based on book reviews or other people's recommendations.
I have a special cupboard in my house to store my notebooks.
Just this week I bought a beautiful black leather cover notebook. The purpose of this one is to collect the ideas for blog posts that burst into my head at random intervals. It also serves as a place for me to capture my impressions of events as they happen. I find that my eye for detail declines with the passage of time. Things I thought were really funny or clever at the time completely disappear from my mind. Wry observations become distant memories. This makes my great stories (in my head) turn out to be bland and boring. So my notebook is fast and furiously filling up with ideas for posts. No writer's block going on here.
I feel like a right proper bohemian journalist carrying my little notebook around. The other night I arrived at Cafe Rouge to meet Marc and the children for dinner. My train had arrived before they did. There I sat writing about what I thought about my day. It reminded me of films where you see the reporter writing a real poignant insightful article while the voice over tells you what they are writing. OK, that's not what is in my notebook. I'm simply not that insightful. But since there is no voice over in life, it doesn't matter. The contents of this notebook could change the world.....or just amuse you.