The Moleskine and Me


I have a Moleskine notebook. I know this because I found it in my notebook drawer as I cleared it out the other day. It was lying next to all my other notebooks. Unlike my other notebooks – filled with untidy shorthand, illegible phone numbers and doodles – my Moleskine is completely empty. I bought it four years ago, picking it up as I queued at the counter of Waterstone’s back home on a visit to Tunbridge Wells. Ah yes, I remember thinking, this is the sort of thing the foreign correspondent needs.

There was just one problem. It cost me £8 – in the days when that was at least $15. And what on earth would I think of that would be so inspired, so important that it needed writing down in a $15 notebook? Nothing, it transpired. The Moleskine intimidated me to the point where it was tucked away, forgotten, alongside my $1 notebooks.

Occasionally I’ll run into a journalist who uses a Moleskine. I generally view them uncharitably.

(The above image is not my Moleskine)