I would like to write more of my thoughts and ideas down so I am trying to find a cool and funky diary.
So far I have seen this one
and this one
and this one
all are from this Japanese design website.
This one is cute (and many more types of leather bound diaries/notebooks/winebooks) from renaissance-art
There is of course the famous moleskine notebooks used by the likes of Bruce Chatwin who wrote In Patagonia, about traveling around Patagonia. Bruce Chatwin, in his book "Songlines", tells us the whole story of his favorite notebook, which he nicknamed “Moleskine”.
In 1986, the original manufacturer - a family operating in Tours - closed down forever: “Le vrai moleskine n’est plus” are the lapidary words he puts into the mouth of the owner of the stationery shop in Rue de l’Ancienne Comédie – also a legendary spot - where Chatwin stocked up on the notebooks. The English writer-traveller bought up all the “Moleskines” that he could find, but they were not enough.
In 1986, the last moleskine manufacturer went out of business, leaving the stationery shop unable to fill Chatwin’s most recent order for 100. Chatwin died in 1989, however in 1998, the Italian company Modo & Modo once again began manufacturing moleskine notebooks and the history of this notebook can be read here.
from The Songlines by Bruce Chatwin( a great book by the way, should be read by any person who is interested in Australia or lives in Australia)
My reason for coming to Australia was to try to learn for myself, and not from other men's books, what a Songline was - and how it worked. Obviously, I was not going to get to the heart of the matter, nor would I wantto. I had asked a friend in Adelaide if she knew of an
expert. She gave me Arkady's phone number.
"Do you mind if I use my notebook?"
I asked "Go ahead."
I pulled from my pocket a black, oilcloth-covered
notebook, its pages held in place with an elastic band.
"Nice notebook," he said.
"I used to get them in Paris," I said. "But now they
don't make them any more."
"Paris?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow as if he'd
never heard anything so pretentious.
Then he winked and went on talking.
For lunch we had beer and a salami sandwich.
The beer made me sleepy, so I slept until four.
When I woke, I started rearranging the caravan as a place to work in.
There was a plyboard top which pulled out over the second bunk to make a desk. There was even a swiveling office chair. I put my pencils in a tumbler and my Swiss Army knife beside them. I unpacked some exercise pads and, with the obsessive neatness that goes with the beginning of a project, I made three neat stacks of my 'Paris' notebooks. In France, these notebooks are known as carnets moleskines: 'moleskine', in this case, being its black oilcloth binding. Each time I went to Paris, I would
buy a fresh supply from a papeterie in the Rue de
l'Ancienne Comédie. The pages were squared and the end-papers held in place with an elastic band. I had numbered them in series. I wrote my name and address on the front page, offering a reward to the finder.
To lose a passport was the least of one's worries:
to lose a notebook was a catastrophe.
In twenty odd years of travel, I lost only two.
One vanished on an Afghan bus. The other was filched
by the Brazilian secret police, who, with a certain
clairvoyance, imagined that some lines I had written -
about the wounds of a Baroque Christ - were a description, in code, of their own work on political prisoners.
Some months before I left for Australia, the owner of the
papeterie said that the vrai moleskine was getting harder
and harder to get. There was one supplier: a small family
business in Tours. They were very slow in answering letters.
"I'd like to order a hundred," I said to Madame.
"A hundred will last me a lifetime."
She promised to telephone Tours at once, that afternoon.
At lunchtime, I had a sobering experience. The headwaiter of Brasserie Lipp no longer recognised me, "Non, Monsieur, il n'y a pas de place." At five, I kept my appointment with Madame. The manufacturer had died. His heirs had sold the business. She removed her spectacles and, almost with an air of mourning, said, "Le vrai moleskine n'est plus."
Thankfully moleskine notebooks can be found here in Australia