Day One of the Inkxperiment.
Heck everyone else has lovely baking and cooking blogs with pictures of delicious cakes, and you come here and all you get is a revolting looking mess...sorry.
Having decided to reduce the liquid by half based on the fact that we don't really want three pints of ink, and after a night and day of resting the jar containing the oak galls and the rain water next to the Aga, because apparently it is warmth not necessarily sunshine that this requires, there is quite a nice little inky broth brewing...
I have sourced some copper sulphate and am hoping it will arrive quickly because this is only supposed to steep for one more more 'daye' before adding that, and I am getting quite excited to see what might happen....even starting to think about finding some little bottles for the finished product...and perhaps sealing them with wax and sticking labels on... dovegreyink...do not drink etc.
Though I might be getting a bit ahead of myself there as we have this bit still to come which seems fraught with sticking-to-the-bottom-of-the-pan risk,
And to make your Ink shine and lustrous, add certain pieces of Barque of Pomgranat, or a small quantity of double-refin'd Sugar, boyling it a little over a gentle fire.
Meanwhile, in case you missed it in comments yesterday, Macmillan have a clever competition in progress in connection with The Missing Ink. The winner will have their handwriting turned into a usable font...just think of the handwriting bother that will save you, which seems slightly counter to the ethos of the book, but never mind, it's a bit of fun.
I have done mine and sent it in, requesting no analytical attention from Philip Hensher thank you very much, I don't want to know...
Philip has done an uncannily accurate analysis of the handwriting of famous people this week, though he had no idea whose as he dissected, and which if you missed you can read here.
I love this one...
Oh dear. I try to find something individual and likable in everyone's handwriting, but this is a bit sad and even a little babyish. Those fat loops on the L are not very mature, nor the way it all squashes into the middle zone, with not much in the way of ascenders or descenders. It just stops dead on the line. If you got a love letter written in this hand, you would probably think of Jane Austen's Mr Collins: the author would do, in efficient, practical terms, but they are not going to be romantically exciting.
It turns out to be someone quite important.