5. Stationery

It's an obsession common among school-age girls (particularly those who go to swot schools and have a lot of homework) but my obsession never faded. Just this week I went out of my way to buy a new Parker fountain pen, when I already have two functioning (and rather smart and lovely) fountain pens, and - get this - another Parker fountain pen exactly the same as the one I bought. I can't explain it - but the need was profound, and the satisfaction considerable. (It came with a little pen case! I was powerless to resist.)

Being a freelance writer who works from home gives me unlimited opportunities for new stationery. I am only constrained by my budget. Who would have thought that plastic folders, lever-arch files, pencils, erasers, post-it notes, Pritt Stick, file dividers and Sharpies (black, blue and red) would be considered exciting purchases? And that's before we get onto paper and pens - which are for me what handbags and shoes are to others. (Though, if you're offering, I like handbags and shoes lots too.)

My mother's face still goes pale when she thinks about the smelly rubber years, and I still think fondly of those strange plastic pencils (which were often also smelly) with replaceable plastic tips. Remember those? They were great - but rubbish for actual writing.

Computers have had a considerably deleterious effect on the world of stationery in general, and in Central London at least there is only Paperchase and Ryman to feed my addiction. Small market towns, however, often have an old-fashioned stationery shop, and there I can delight and revel in A5 plain pads, 2B pencils, fibre tip handwriting pens like what we used in Mrs Carelse's class, pentels in every shade of the rainbow, and - best of all - glittery and metallic pens for Christmas, and other special occasions. These shops are slightly dusty and they always smell of photocopiers and brewing tea. You can still buy a small white rubber for 20p. I always emerge from these shops at least £10 poorer, and nursing a slight headache - from the cheshire-cat grin of sheer pleasure I have been wearing for however long I've been allowed to spend in the shop.

It is a simple, innocent pastime - and one that is useful for somebody who basically wields a pen for a living. It is possible that, due to the tragic disappearance of stationery shops in our towns, in my later years I will have to open my own stationery shop, and sit there, cackling to myself, lipstick smeared all over my hairy face, waiting to sell other sad addicts the very latest (circa 2014) gel pens and neon highlighters. Life will then have gone full-circle, and I can shuffle off to the great stationery shop in the sky.