We found this newspaper in an old iron safe that had previously belonged to my Great Aunt. The newspaper’s a whopping one hundred and fifteen years old and it felt a bit weird knowing that we were probably the first people to have looked at it since it had been stuffed into the back of the safe all those years ago.

Reading through the news from 1896 it was the adverts that really caught my eye. Produced in a time long before anyone had dreamt up the idea of brand identity or trading standards they come across as wonderfully naive. The Victorian copywriting trend for repeating words in capital letters is definitely an attention grabber. Who could possibly resist the charms of HAMS! HAMS! CHEESE! CHEESE! BACON! BACON! from Liptons grocery shop?

Sufferers of blood impurities must have been reassured by this very confident advert from Clarke’s World-Famed Blood Mixture. The typesetter has created a helpful column that screams THE BLOOD – just in case it wasn’t clear that Blood Mixture was for your, erm, blood.

Carters took a more playful approach to convince readers that their sugar coated pills really were the bees knees. Their little rhyme is ever so sweet, quite modest in-fact, when you consider that they’d found a cure for liver disease.

Hearts Content

I found this clunky typewriter discarded in the undergrowth of the park near my house last September. It looked bizarre sprawled in the autumn leaves with its dislocated hinges and wonky metal arms. At the time I was rushing on my way to work and couldn’t drag it along with me so I took a quick picture instead and made a mental note of its name – Imperial Portable.

We already have a typewriter in our house and one mechanical writing machine is enough for any family so I admit I did consider leaving it in amongst the shrubs looking weird and rusty.  But I felt responsible for it and was compelled  to walk through the park on my way home,  just to check it was still there.

That evening I showed the photo to my good friend Sarah who insisted we rescue it and promptly marched me to the park to fish it out from its hiding place. Once home the Imperial Portable lay neglected in my cellar for a few months before it found refuge with a kind man who rehabilitates poorly typewriters. Apparently its been restored to its original regal splendour and is now in good company. I’m expecting a type written postcard from it any day soon.