In 2000, after I bought my very first fountain pen, my friend Catherine Hennessey gifted me a bottle of Quink.

We moved into town that summer, something I recall because, in part, I distinctly remember my abject fear of a Quink-spill during the move.

The bottle is beautiful. And, 20 years on, it remains unspilt.

I gingerly transferred it from the cupboard above our refrigerator, where I came across it yesterday, over to the office this morning. I have it safely ensconced in the middle of a shelf.

There is a lifetime supply of Quink in that bottle.