The Pen and the Sword

Could a pen be classed, quite literally, as a weapon? I need to know. Even though my trip to Chicago is still a few weeks away, I've already decided which pen and ink will be travelling with me: the midi Visconti Van Gogh and my beloved Herbin Lie de Thé. (Given fountain pens' tendency to leak at high altitudes, I'll be flying with an empty pen and then, unusually, relying on cartridges when I'm there.) But, as I cleaned out the pen this morning, it struck me that a nib is effectively a sharpened piece of metal. Does this mean that I won't be able to carry my object of beauty in my hand luggage? The British Airways website states that 'you cannot carry sharp items in your carry-on bags', but their list of banned objects doesn't mention pens. (I wonder if the rule about 'sharp items' applies to sherbert lemon sweets?) The Civil Aviation Authority's webpage is similarly unhelpful. I have flown with fountain pens several times in recent years, and no one has ever said anything, but this is the first time that I've given any thought to the matter, and I'm now in a state of panic. What if I have to surrender my precious Visconti at the airport? Would my travel insurance cover missing a flight due to emotional trauma caused by being parted from a writing instrument? It could come under 'bereavement', surely.

In an attempt to distract me from today's crisis, I have catalogued my inks (all are bottled, unless otherwise indicated):

Diamine Grey
Diamine Prussian Blue
Diamine Umber
Herbin Lie de Thé (bottle and cartridges)
Herbin Terre de Feu
Herbin Vert Olive
Mont Blanc Bordeaux
Montegrappa Red
Noodler's Black
Noodler's Walnut
Omas Grey
Papyrus Sepia
Private Reserve Avacado (sic)
Private Reserve Tanzanite
Sheaffer Skrip Brown
Visconti Brown
Waterman Florida Blue
Waterman Havana
Yard-o-Led Sepia

No, that hasn't worked - I'm still worried. For once, I really don't want the pen to be mightier than the sword.

Inks in use today: Diamine Prussian Blue; Visconti Brown

Risky Business

A close escape. I very nearly knocked over an almost-full bottle of Visconti brown while rushing to fill my Pelikan this morning. (I think that I need to set my alarm to go off a good ten minutes earlier from now on, just so that I can have some quality time with my inks before leaving for work.) The elegant little object wobbled on its precarious stem ... but somehow managed to correct its balance.

As my heart gradually returned to its normal rate, I began to think about how the use of bottled ink is one of the few genuinely risky activities available in our risk-managed world. Every filling of a pen inevitably comes with the chance of ruining a carpet, a sink, a relationship. To open a bottle of ink is to open up the brute possibility of disaster. Ballpoint users, meanwhile, shelter in safety, shut risk out of their lives. In a society that deems it necessary to print 'This drink is hot' on the side of takeaway coffee cups, ink lovers laugh in the face of fear. We welcome the thrill of risk, and our inky fingers point to our bold refusal to be kept at a distance from the very stuff of writing. We cast off the prophylactic of the ballpoint, with its double barrier against the fatal fluid. We have come to write danger, not right it.

Inks (defiantly) in use today: Visconti brown; Waterman Havana.

Mixed Blessing

The possibility of breaking the rules to mix two Herbin inks together has, in the wake of yesterday's dilemma, been occupying my mind all day. I have, therefore, just cooked up a 2/1 Lie de Thé/Vert Olive blend in my lab (well, over the sink in the back room, next to the washing machine, wearing a chef's apron and - lacking goggles - a pair of sunglasses). There were no explosions or airborne toxic events, arrivals of angry mobs at the door, or gatherings of dark clouds on the horizon. But, to be on the safe side, I drew the forbidden fluid into an old, easily-replaceable Lamy Safari pen. The ink flowed perfectly, and the hybrid colour - which I'm calling Lie d'Olive - was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a slightly paler, more vibrant version of Lie de Thé. Why, then, does the manufacturer explicitly warn against mixing 'two different inks/deux encres différentes'? Vive la différence encredible!

Ink in (illicit) use today: 'Lie d'Olive'

It's Not Easy Being Green

Everything's gone green. I'd forgotten all about the horror of the overcrowded streets of Bath on a rainy Saturday afternoon. (I moved away from the city just over two years ago.) I'd also forgotten how unhelpful Bath's shop assistants can be, but a bizarre argument in a coffee shop over the composition and price of a ristretto soon refreshed my memory this afternoon. There was, however, something to celebrate: I discovered a shop that sells J. Herbin inks. Better still, the shelf was filled with bottles and the incredibly cute little tins of cartridges. I already have, among other things, a bottle of their Lie de Thé, which I love, so I stocked up on some cartridges for my forthcoming trip to Chicago. (Is it worrying that I've planned my ink and pen cargo before I've checked that my passport is still valid?) Perhaps it was the ristretto that led me then to throw caution to the wind and ask for a bottle of Vert Olive to go with the cartridges (I swear that the assistant raised an eyebrow at this point, but I stood my ground). I've never been too fond of green ink, but the Herbin Vert Olive is a little more subtle than, say, Private Reserve's Avacado (their spelling, not mine), which once drove me to the verge of nausea with its brash, relentless tint. (To be fair, it does flow gloriously.)

I've just filled my Sailor 1911 with the new ink, which is very nice to write with. I can't help feeling, though, that the colour would benefit from a dash of brown, and the Lie de Thé is an obvious choice. But here's my dilemma: the box clearly states that different inks should never be mixed. Is such an act dangerous, addictive, ethically reprehensible? Is there a taboo on the marriage of Herbin ink to Herbin ink for fear of monstrous offspring? Have I stumbled across apartheid at the level of the nib?

Ink in use today: J. Herbin Vert Olive (obviously).