You don’t need a typewriter to tell a story

It was the mid-80s: Cliff Richard was on telly, our video player was the size of a small family car, my mum had a perm. My dad’s fondness for pictures of ships managed to make itself felt through a forest of Christmas cards – which is still the case today. I, however, wasn’t fussed by any of this, for I had received my dream present. I had received a typewriter.

I think my desire for a typewriter had partly come about thanks to the advert for the Petite 990, clearly a massive rip-off of 198...