The typewriter. Probably not all of them, but certainly the one I bought off Ebay a couple of years ago for a tenner. It’s a lovely little machine. I only use it for writing letters to my sisters, on the basis that:
a) writing letters to friends who are clearly available on email, facebook and msn seems a bit longwinded and would probably be regarded as ‘odd’ at best (my sisters regard me as odd at best anyway.)
(b) any other type-written missive would immediately and understandably render me a total nutter in the eyes of the recipient.
But I love the simplicity of it. No paper jams, or little flashing lights I don’t understand, or emails/instant messages popping up in adjacent windows to distract me from what I’m doing. You just type, and up come the words, and there you are, job done.
Of course if you make a mistake, you’re absolutely shafted, because there’s no such thing as a delete key (not on this one, at any rate) and once you get into the realms of electric typewriters, or even manual ones with clever ways of deleting mistakes, you might as well just use a computer and be done with it.
I love the clunking noises, and the way it smells sort of old and dusty.
Even the name of the thing is genius – ‘Empire – Aristocrat’, and to top it all, there’s a picture of a trafalgar-esque lion printed on the case.
The ribbon is running low and I’ll probably never find a replacement, but I’ll soak it in ink if necessary, just to keep the thing ticking over for a few more years.