Back in the late eighties I used to write on an old Imperial typewriter that had belonged to my grandfather. It was a lovely object, all shiny black and circle whites that made your fingers exercise - tactile interaction aurally underlined by the rhythm of black letters hammered onto organic white. A crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes by its side (hey! it was the 20th century. I used to smoke!) and piles of second-hand paperbacks were accessories to a pulp cult feel.
And this type of object wasn't confined to my student bedroom in a terraced house in west yorkshire (most probably once occupied by a textile-mill worker). For over a century these writing machines were everywhere. In offices, homes and typing schools across continents.
Business transactions were spelt out, novels were created and declared dead on typewriters. Until the early nineties they featured heavily in film. They even went electric, like a guitar.
And then they disappeared. Just like that. And the question, in actual, pratical terms, is: where have all the typewriters gone?