The snowy January gave way to a wet and windy February and then to an equally unpleasant March. The sidewalks were filling with mutilated corpses of umbrellas, and I was worrying that mine would join them in a matter of days, if not hours. (The glorious Fulton was yet to be discovered by me.)
One of those rainy afternoons a thought struck me: maybe intead of an umbrella I need, um, an Umbro? This windcheater stared at me through the shop window with its lonely diamond-shaped eye. “Will you take me home? Please?”
So I did. It must have been the first item of clothing I acquired in Leeds. Naturally, it was not called “vintage” back then. I don’t remember how much I paid for my “famous blue raincoat” but it couldn’t have been more than a tenner. I never expected this oversized piece of 100% nylon to become my best investment, garment-wise. And here it is, three decades later, still up to its job (of protecting me from the elements), as good as new. That’s quality. I’ve worn it over any other garb in my possession, including a puffer jacket and a backpack, from Leeds to Boston to Porvoo to Santander, etc. etc.
I bought this pair of vintage wooden rackets (palas cántabras) last year on a flea market in Santander for €3. It took me a good while but I’ve finally decorated them with acrylic paints.
The most outrageous thing about this particular loss was that I wasn’t even aware of it until the day after, about noon, when I opened my backpack where there should have been my Chromebook. It was not there. The power cable and the mouse, yes. Laptop, no.
I distinctly remember having it there a day before, as well as taking it out at the airport security. The problem with air travel in winter, even if it is Spanish winter, is that you have too many clothes on. And then you have to take your coat and your jacket off, maybe even your boots, if you’re lucky, and they don’t fit in those trays anymore, and you take another one. The security guy insisted that I did not cover the notebook with my jacket, so I shoved it in another tray. And then, when they successfully reemerged on the other side, I stacked all three or four of them on top of each other and moved on to the free table, to put the stuff back on me. Keys, mobile phone, belt and suchlike. I must have left the laptop in the bottom tray. I must have.
I found the Lost&Found page of the airport of Valencia with a contact telephone number. As much as I hate phoning, this time I had to. The person I talked to, in English, was very polite and helpful. I explained what happened; he advised me to phone back in quarter an hour. I did. He said that yes, they have located the notebook. Can you come here, he asked. I am in Las Palmas, I said. Oh, he said. Do you happen to know somebody who lives a bit closer and can fetch it, he mused. Yes I do, I said.
He suggested my sending him an email describing my loss and authorising that kind person, with such and such ID, to collect it, plus a photo of my passport attached. I did exactly that and pleaded my friend to visit the Lost&Found office when she can.
When she got there, later the same day, she messaged me asking for the password. I sent it to her. I think it’s a normal procedure — they need some evidence that the device is mine. She unlocked it, they handed it over.
How easy and efficient it was, I thought. I remember a story I heard from a German scientist I met on a conference in Italy twenty years ago. He was travelling by train. Surprised by the timely arrival at the destination, he rushed out of the carriage leaving his laptop behind. On realising that, he immediately went to the police station and filed the report. Fortunately, the computer was quickly located and brought to the hotel where we stayed the following day. Needless to say, he was very pleased and praised the politeness and efficiency of Italian police over their German colleagues who (according to him) would question you for hours who are you and where did you come from and how did you dare to forget your property in the train. Well, that was in 1999.
Now let me say a few words about this Chromebook. My brother bought it for me last year when I visited him in the States, so you can imagine how annoyed I was with myself to lose it. It’s literally the coolest computer I ever had in my hands (or placed on my lap, for that matter), thanks to its aluminium case. Also, since there are no moving parts, it is virtually silent. It boots in seconds. It has really bright 14-inch anti-glare screen (specified as a full-HD but, according to WhatIsMyScreenResolution.NET, I can get resolution up to 2194x1234). It served me well in the classroom — videos, PowerPoints, Kahoot! quizzes, you name it — and the battery lasted the whole damn working day. I sure would appreciate more internal memory but for now I can live with 32 GB. And why there’s no SD card slot?!
I can’t say I’m over the moon about Chrome OS — I think this machine deserves decent software on its own, not only Android apps. Luckily, since 2018 you can also install Linux apps on it. I tried that and it works. I put there LibreOffice and Inkscape just a few days before my flight to Gran Canaria.
With Christmas holidays and all that, my friend only was able to go to the post office after the New Year. Even then, she was warned that the laptop is unlikely to arrive before Reyes. It took longer than that.
The day she sent it off, I got both email and SMS with the tracking number so I was able to check the shipping progress on the Correos website. In practice, for five days or so I was stuck with its original location, that is, Valencia, followed by the terse “en camino” (“on the way”). Finally, it arrived to Canaries.
Último estado del envío: En tramitación aduanera
Se ha emitido aviso al destinatario para poder completar la tramitación
I started to worry. We dealt with customs before, and every time they wanted money. Normally they would send you a paper enquiring about the value of the imported goods so they could determine how much you must pay on top of the postage. In theory, that should be only applicable to new goods, but you never know. In any case, I still didn’t have any notice.
I went to the post office for a consultation. They told me basically what I already knew and their advice was to wait a couple more days. I did that and, naturally, in a couple more days came back. This time I’ve got the email address of the customs. Write to them and explain the matter, the postal worker said. So I did.
Dear Sir/Madam, I wrote, I am waiting for a package sent on January the 2nd, with tracking code XYZ, containing a laptop I lost at the Valencia Airport. The laptop is used and doesn’t even have a power cable. The package should have been delivered to such and such post office. I was supposed to get a message from you but I didn’t. Waiting for your response. Big hugxoxoxo Yours sincerely.
Imagine my joy mixed with amusement when I received their response the very next day.
Buenos días,
La información que nos ha enviado es correcta. Le llevarán el envío a su domicilio. Si no estuviese, le dejarán un aviso para que usted vaya a retirarlo a la oficina de Correos que le corresponda. Puede realizar el seguimiento de su envío en nuestra página web introduciendo el código del mismo.
Gracias por utilizar nuestros servicios
Saludos
But of course the information I sent them was correct. What, I wonder, would they do if I hadn’t provided them with that correct information? Anyway, the next morning I got the SMS saying that my parcel is waiting for me in the post office. Contrary to what the email said, they never planned to deliver it to my home address. Which suited me fine. I showed my ID, they gave the box to me. It all took just four weeks. Happy end of story.
We went to Fuerteventura for a weekend and had a chance to see, try and photograph Luca’s latest creation. In spite of similar name, its appearance is quite different from Grand Concert Cutaway (reviewed almost two years ago). The cutaway is deeper, headstock is pointier, armrest is more pronounced; the overall feel is of a more slender, more modern instrument. I couldn’t compare them side by side but I think this one has sweeter, softer sound than Grand Concert Cutaway. (Hmm. I spy a nomenclature problem here. “Non-Florentine Cutaway” just does not feel right.) And I really liked “the thin red line” formally known as purfling which sometimes abandons the edges and wanders across the neck, the headstock and so on.
Timur also had a go and found it “very nice” even though he, like me, still prefers the classical guitar.
I have to mention that this instrument was not made to order, which means it’s still available and could be yours! Contact Luca for details.
And so I said goodbye to my trusty bass combo. I had the ad at both milanuncios and Vibbo (formerly and better known as segundamano.es, which is hardly surprising as “Vibbo” does not make any sense) for at least half a year. In the end, I sold it for a rather princely sum of €160 to a fellow musician here in Las Palmas. We tried the amp in his studio and he was very impressed with the sound quality as well as its pristine state.
Anyone should be. I myself didn’t believe that its nominal output is only 65 watts. I’d say it goes to eleven delivers at least 80 W. The build quality is equally impressive. Not to mention the famous and unbelievably comfy green carpet covering. I spent many a happy hour a-jammin’ while sittin’ on it in my “stairway to hell” period. But it really had to go. I was not using it since 2009 and, after travelling with us to Fuerteventura and then to Gran Canaria, good old Tracy was just gathering dust. Oh well. We had a fifteen-year ride, mate. I hope it will be put to a good use in the new hands.
Specifications
Output: 65 W rms / 8Ω
Loudspeaker: Celestion 12" 8Ω
Input impedance: >470 kΩ
Sensitivity: 77 mV rms
Weight: 17 kg
Dimensions: 480×410×290 mm
Almost five years later, I can report: these strings survived the journey from the UK to Fuerteventura, two years there, a long winter in Finland and one more year in Gran Canaria. At last, the D string broke. No, wait. It did when we were in Finland, but as it snapped close to the bridge, I was able to re-tie it. On Sunday it broke again. So on Monday Timur and I journeyed to the nearest music shop to look for a new set. For such a small shop, it has quite a good choice of classical guitar strings, but there was only one make of black nylon, viz. La Bella 900-B. And, as Timur wanted the black trebles, we’ve got black.
This time, Timur was helping to replace the strings. We also used this opportunity to clean the fretboard thoroughly.
The new set (La Bella 900-B) before being fitted
I have to say that I had these strings on my Clarissa some years ago and really liked them. Compared to (new) Black n’Silver, both bass and trebles have slightly softer sound. The bass strings are wound with American wire polished golden alloy and are considerably less squeaky (thanks to “polished”, I doubt that gold makes that much difference).
This October was unusually dry and sunny, by Santander standards. I spent it umbrella-less. On the 1st of November, I realised that resistance is futile and ordered this brolly from England (because I can’t find anything approaching it here). Now that people keep asking me about it, and I keep explaining, I thought I may just as well write the story down.
Unless I miss something, this is my fifth Stormshield. The first three were purchased in the now-closed (sigh) Eaden Lilley store in Saffron Walden. The very first one was black. It was under this umbrella that Yuri taught me his Life Cycle of Umbrella Bearers theory when he was about six. Unfortunately, I left it in a cinema and it was never found. I don’t buy black umbrellas anymore.
As much as I love to say that Stormshield is unbreakable, the truth is that the one of spokes of the second one’s got broken. Not by wind, but by a combination of various heavy objects in our car boot and kids competing for the right of carrying it. Even so, it was serving us well until we had to move. We left it behind and took another (intact) umbrella with us to Canaries.
The Stormshield #4 was bought when we were living in Porvoo. We didn’t use it that much there. Now it’s found a new home in Moscow.
So what’s so good about it? As I said, it’s practically unbreakable. Thanks to its vented canopy construction, it does not get turned inside out by wind. It’s lightweight. It’s huge: if it is not very windy, you can get four adults comfortably standing and chatting underneath it with their rears still dry. Mind you, the size can be a problem as well: at 130 cm when open, it is wider than most sidewalks here. Quite often I have to tilt it to fit, say, between a wall and a lamppost (naturally, I get wet). Finally, it’s long and sturdy. On weekends, I use Stormshield #5 as a hiking pole during dry spells in Cantabrian countryside.
Last month, we went to Fuerteventura and visited Luca’s workshop. After Tamara had finished photographing two more of Luca’s masterpieces, I had a go on them.
The first of them, Grand Concert Cutaway, has a look and feel of the Grand Concert Multiscale but is even more beautiful.
(a)
As you can see, the cutaway is not very deep. It does not give you completely unimpeded access to the higher frets. But ask yourself, do you really need it? Instead, you get this amazing body shape and the sound to die for.
(b)
(c)
Model specification: LC Grand Concert Cutaway
Woods: Val di Fiemme Spruce, Makassar Ebony back and sides, Ebony bindings, Brazilian Rosewood Fingerboard
Triple ring rosette (b) and Headplate (c): Brazilian Rosewood & Makassar Ebony
Bone saddle and nut. Back horn bridge pins
Tuners: Gotoh 510 mini 1.18 ratio
Nut: 45 mm
Bridge strings spacing: 58 mm
Multiscale: 25″—26″
Waist: 25 cm
Upper bout: 29 cm
Lower bout: 39.5 cm
Body length: 49 cm
Overall length: 102 cm
After playing a multiscale, a “normal” fretboard, at least for a little while, feels a bit weird.
La Classica (d) looks more like a flamenco instrument than a concert classical. However, it sounds very different from flamenco guitar. If anything, its sound reminded me that of one cedar-top guitar I heard in Peter Barton’s workshop at the Leeds College of Music back in 1996 (sorry can’t be any more precise!), soft, sweet and long-lasting. Besides, it is a very comfy instrument to play. (As I had mentioned before, the steel string guitar’s neck is too narrow for me.) A pleasure for ear, eye and hands alike.
I hate my smartphone. It has a most annoying habit of doing things on its own, like phoning another person’s mobile and not hanging up, or switching itself on and off. Last Thursday, it locked itself. It couldn’t choose the least appropriate moment to do so.
I was flying from Gran Canaria to Fuerteventura to collect our household stuff which we left behind in a storage room (trastero) when we moved to Finland. The “proper” (British) removal company gave me a quote which we were not prepared to pay. Eventually I found a local man with a van who took the job. He and his partner were travelling by ferry on Thursday morning. I was to meet them in the afternoon, pack and load the van, spend a night in Corralejo and go back home with them next day.
Just before the plane took off, I, like a good boy, had switched the phone off. When we landed, I found the damn thing on and locked. Apparently, it switched itself on and tried, unsuccessfully, to guess the PIN number. Not so smart, eh? Now it was demanding the PUK which I, of course, didn’t know. I was not sure that I kept the original plastic thingy (does it have a technical name?), and even if I did, I had no clue where it could be. Maybe in trastero?
I popped to the Movistar shop to buy a new SIM card. Luckily, all the important numbers were stored in the phone’s memory and not on the locked SIM (although this smartass is also known to lose some of my contacts in the past). So I was saved.
It took us three hours to clear the trastero. There was not that much stuff, however the tiny room was pretty full and there were some steric constraints I completely forgot about. For example, to extract a bookcase (there were four of them), we had to flip it upside down while moving through the door. All our things seemed to survive this year without any damage and even did not collect much dust. To my amazement, I found the plastic card with the PUK number under the foot of the last bookcase.
It was nine o’clock already when we finished our job. I went to the C.C. Campanario because I needed to do some minimal shopping and to get something to eat. Better still, I was in time to see the second half of de lo Flamenco performance!
Next morning, I met Luca who brought me two more boxes (books again!) and the last of my musical instruments which he was hosting for a year. Finally, the van was full. We started from Corralejo at midday. It was a holiday, Asunción de la Virgen. The roads were largely empty, and we had reached Morro Jable much faster than expected. The sky was dusty-grey; it looked like the kalima was coming.
Good bye, Fuerteventura. It feels a bit strange that there are no more material things left that would oblige us to come and get them. But we’ll be back anyway.
This is a Russian version of the original post published on 15 May 2013
Каждый уважающий себя испанский остров просто обязан иметь гитарных дел мастера. У нас на Фуэртевентуре, к счастью, есть Лука Кантери. Его специальность — акустические фолк-гитары, хотя он также делает тимпле. Гитары Луки оказались первыми (и пока что последними) когда-либо попавшими в мои руки инструментами с переменной мензурой.
Мое первое ощущение было что-то вроде головокружения. От гитары как-то ждешь параллельных ладов, а когда они таковыми не оказываются, начинаешь подозревать, что тут что-то не то, то ли с полом, то ли с геометрией комнаты вообще.
(а)
(б)
Я держал в руках два произведения Луки: Grand Concert Multiscale (а) и несколько похожую на гитару XIX века “The ParLou” (б). Должен сразу сказать, что фолк-гитара — не совсем моя стихия, я чувствую себя комфортнее с классической. К примеру, у обоих инструментов гриф узковат для моих рук. Зато, как только привыкнешь к идее веерных ладов, левая рука начинает чувствовать себя более естественно. (Потому что так оно и есть.) Звук мне понравился. Ясные дисканты и удивительно — особенно в случае ParLou — громкие и глубокие басы.
Так что опыт есть. Единственный побочный эффект: теперь я убежден, что мне действительно нужна одна из его гитар.
He played with The Velvet Underground, Gary Moore and even Sir Paul. Enough memoir material by any standard. But for me, as probably for about everybody else, he always was — still is — theDeep Purple drummer. There never was DP without Ian Paice.
You’d think there should be plenty of DVDs around showcasing Paice’s talent. Well... (drum roll please...) no. But there is at least this one.
On The Drums is a curious collection of Paice-related bits and bobs. Released by Edel in 2008, it looks like a European repackaging of 2002 American DVD Not for the Pros. In contrast to what Amazon says, this DVD is region-free (not region 2). The picture quality could have been better; the sound is OK for the most part, but I wouldn’t mind having subtitles.
Ian Paice’s Drummers Guide
The “main feature” is a fifty-minute documentary where Paice travels the world visiting the musical instrument factories: Pearl in Japan, Paiste in Switzerland (hey, I just learned another Finnish word!), Pro-Mark and Remo in America. He demonstrates just a little bit of his technique but clearly not enough to be considered an instructional. The film is interspersed by snippets of Deep Purple archive footage. I find them rather distracting; luckily, you can choose a viewing option without these clips.
Abbey Road Session
...contains two cool instrumentals, Paicesetter and Dustbins. Paice is accompanied by Colin Hodgkinson on bass and Miller Anderson on guitar. I did not realise Paice is left-handed until I watched this! Now if the entire DVD was material of this quality, I wouldn’t hesitate to give it five stars.
Roadie’s Eye View
This section has several songs or fragments filmed during Deep Purple’s 2001 US tour, with a twist: the camera, for a change, is focused on Paice. Ted the Mechanic, Lazy, Knocking At Your Back Door and Highway Star are shown in their entirety, but the highlight is the middle section of Fools, which is not even a drum solo and still is mind-blowing. But why on earth didn’t they show the full Fools?
Drum Clinic
That could have been really interesting... (short drum solo please...) if any part of it lasted more than ten seconds, that is. What we have here is just some short promo for Australian TV. Total waste of time.
Ian Paice Interview
Another bit filmed for Aussie TV. Rather more entertaining than the “drum clinic”. Paice, apart from being simply the greatest rock drummer alive, appears to be very nice (and humble) bloke.
Retro Mix
A montage of old and new(ish) Deep Purple clips set to Paicesetter. Please ignore it and watch the Abbey Road Session again.
My chromatic tuner died this spring. At first I thought there was a problem with a battery, or the battery contact. I’ve changed the battery couple of times and added a bit of duct tape to keep it firmly in place. Still, it required me pressing on the battery compartment (squeezing the electrons out?) to make it go. And then, even that stopped working.
During my last visit to Cambridge I ventured to the very same music shop in a hope to buy a replacement. There are not selling Crafter tuners any longer. However, the shop assistant did show me a selection of gadgets and recommended this model as the one that works well both on string and brass instruments. (He said he himself plays trumpet and clips this tuner to the bell.) So I bought it.
It is a great little gizmo and so far it has been working just fine. The “pitch” button is used to calibrate the concert A between 430 and 450 Hz. The “item” button allows to switch between the instrument (guitar, bass, violin, ukulele) and chromatic (keys F, B♭, E♭ and, naturally, C) modes. Finally, the “flat” button makes the E♭ tuning and D tuning of guitar and bass a piece of cake. (It is not that difficult anyway.) The clip provides two rotational degrees of freedom and can be swapped between the left and the right side of the tuner. The LCD display looks as if taken from some vintage sci-fi movies. Last but not least: black is cool but metallic red is even cooler.
You can buy yourself one from Amazon for one-third of the price I paid in the shop.
A BBC report says that Cambridge is “Britain’s top cycling city”. If this is indeed so, I feel sorry for the rest of Britain. For Cambridge, the last time I was looking (last month), is still far from being truly cycle-friendly. Unfortunately, there are no shortage of cyclist haters in Britain. This hatred is often based on a belief that it’s them, motorists, who are paying the mythical “road tax” while the rest are (equally mythical) “road tax dodgers”. On the other hand, (some of) the cyclists in Cambridge are arrogant like nowhere else. When Douglas Adams wrote about “a cyclist, who cursed and swore ... from a moral high ground that cyclists alone seem able to inhabit”, I’m sure he meant Cambridge cyclists.
I bought my first bicycle in 1998, shortly after moving to Cambridgeshire, in a hope to use it for my work commute. Back then, I had this mental image of Cambridge as a safe cycling place, which I by some reason extended to the rest of the county. The reality was different. The semblance of the cycling path was disappearing half-way from the village, and I was never feeling suicidal enough to hit the motorway. And so, for the next 13 years, my Integra Phantom was resting. (Resting, not rusting. It started to rust only here.)
I resumed cycling two years ago, in Corralejo. My first week here, I bought a budget Berg. Both Yuri and Timur were learning cycling on it, and then Yuri was using it daily, so it suffered a lot. In two years, I changed the pedals, wheels, gears, brakes (twice), saddle (twice), tyres (twice), countless inner tubes... well more or less everything apart from the frame and the chain. I reckon I invested in it at least twice as much as it was worth new. Still, cycling is the way to go in Corralejo. From our house, it is a 15-minute ride to the school and the same to Flag Beach.
When my old bike has finally arrived from England, I took it for a check-up to the sports shop where I bought the rest of our bike fleet. That’s when and how I learned (from “my” mechanic) that the brake levers in left-side-driving countries are the other way round compared to the rest of the world.
Now Corralejo is reasonably crime-free but one day Timur phoned from the school and said that his bike has disappeared. By that time, it also was a well-battered contraption scarcely worth stealing. Still, I went to the police to report the incident, if only for the sake of the experience. Needless to say, I never heard back from them.
Cycling in Corralejo is a breeze. Not because of the infrastructure — the cycling paths can be good, bad or absent — but thanks to the attitude. ¡Tranquilo, hombre! It’s only guiris (foreigners) who wear cycling helmets. Nobody bothers with hand signals either. The motorists normally leave the cyclists in peace; the cyclists don’t seem to be excessively irritating either. For me, the major annoyance comes in form of obese pedestrians who insist on crawling three or four a-breast, taking all of the pavement and a cycling path.
Ironically, just as we are planning to move, they, at long last, finished the re-surfacing of the high street and even put the new bike parking racks. If you are visiting Corralejo, think seriously of renting a bike. If you are moving in... do you need a second-hand one?
Every self-respecting Spanish island should have a luthier. On Fuerteventura, we are lucky to have Luca Canteri. His speciality are steel-string acoustic guitars, although I know he also made a timple. Luca’s guitars were the first (and so far the last) multiscale instruments I ever held in my hands.
My first visual impression was that of dizziness. You’re expecting the frets to be parallel, and when they ain’t, you suspect something is wrong with the floor or overall geometry of the room.
(a)
(b)
I tried two of Luca’s creations, the Grand Concert Multiscale (a) and “The ParLou” (b), the latter looking a bit like a 19th-century guitar. I have to say that steel-string guitar is not exactly my thing, I feel more comfortable with a classical. For example, the neck is a bit narrow for my hands. But once you get used to the idea of fanned frets, it actually feels more natural for a left hand. (Because it is.) I liked the sound. Clear trebles, surprisingly — especially for The ParLou — loud and deep bass.
The only side-effect of my experience is that now I am convinced that I really need one of these.
When we stayed in London last Summer, I visited several music shops looking for a second-hand trombone. No such luck: I had a problem to find even a first-hand trombone. In Enfield, the shop assistant told me: “There’s no much demand for them... in this area”. True, I did not do my homework. Probably I could have found an affordable second-hand instrument if I started to look a few months before the travel. But I never do that.
Back to Fuerteventura, which I already knew to be largely trombone-free, I ordered this horn via Amazon.de for €141. A bargain, even with postage and packing (another €23). Then, I was not exactly happy that our own Canarian post office charged me further 30 euros, but I had no choice. At least and at last, I got it.
Good thing that STT-100S comes in an ABS hard case. Which, by the way, arrived with a cracked corner, but nobody would tell me when did that happen. I was not going to send it back anyway. For the time being, I mended it with duct tape.
The trombone itself so far feels decent enough. I was about to write “decent student model” but realised that I only played one trombone before, and it also wasn’t a pro model. Made in GDR, of all places. Methinks that Steinbach has a slightly duller tone, or, if we are optimists, that the GDR horn had a brighter tone. On the other hand, mine is lighter and looks nicer. That’s important!
In case you are thinking of buying one: Steinbach does not have them any longer. Ausverkauft. Nicht lieferbar. When I was ordering mine, there were only two instruments left. They have a similar model, with very good reviews, but it is not silver-plated.
The moment came when I got tired of endless requests to change the batteries in the Wii remote controls. So I’ve ordered this docking station. Once you unpack the charger, take out the conventional AA batteries and put the (supplied) battery module instead. This is the first and hopefully the last time you have to open the battery compartment of the remote. As this is an induction charging device, there’s no need for electric contact. You don’t even have to take the silicone jacket off the remote. Then plug the charger in, put the remote(s) on top of the charging board... and wait. It took slightly more than 24 hours to completely charge the remotes (as indicated by the steady green light instead of flashing red), but they could already be used after six or so hours of charging. It’s almost like magic.
This is one of a very few computer-related things acquired in my previous life that are still working. According to the description, it is “silent 0 dB” with “no power needed”. Which hardly seems surprising given that the cooler is a sushi-roll-shaped affair consisting of aluminium tubes. It’s usually found underneath my netbook and it does it job. Silently. A shame that Amazon does not sell it any longer (maybe it is not produced any longer), I wouldn’t mind having couple more of those.
While Apple is still battling Samsung over who first thought of rounded corners, Timur came up with a design of two-screen smartphone. It is solar-powered, so when you are not busy smartphoning, you can still sport your gizmo whilst not looking like a complete moron but, on the contrary, like an eco-conscientious nerd. I suppose the Fuerteventura residents (who, naturally, will be the first buyers of 2S Flare) will be getting a free pair of oven mitts, to safely handle the freshly charged appliance.
Within a week of my moving to Fuerte, I bought a bicycle.
‘One day,’ I thought, ‘I will write a concise cycling guide to the island. But first I have to learn how the bike works.’
You can see the absurdity of my thinking then. You don’t have to know how the telly works to write a good guide to, say, the BBC comedy. But that was the reason why I ordered The Bike Book, mostly on the strength of Amazon reviews entitled “A must for any cyclist” and suchlike.
Of course it is not a “must for any cyclist”. Not in Corralejo anyway. Take the chain fixing (page 78): the job difficulty is rated “four spanners” (four is a maximum in this book), takes about 20 minutes, and you still have to go to a bike shop first to get a replacement rivet or pin. In the bike shop where I go the whole operation takes about 10 minutes and costs €3.
Still, I learned a lot, even though this knowledge isn’t particularly useful.
With a new chain, you get around 114 links.
I did not know that before and I still don’t understand why do I need to. Or:
It sounds easy enough to undo the wheels and pull them out, but you really need three hands.
I bought this cute little combo back in 2000, to have something to plug my Fender Jazz Bass into. It proved to be surprisingly loud for a 20-watt practice box. Great sound quality too, and very sturdy. It served me well as both bass and guitar amp ever since. For the last year and a half, however, it was mostly gathering dust.
Now I found it another use: to accompany me at my Zumba lessons. Microbass is louder and much lighter than ION Block Rocker (well it doesn’t have lead batteries in it), and also happens to fit into a medium-size rolling suitcase. To hook up my MP3 player to it, I had to order a stereo to mono adapter from Amazon — I couldn’t find such a prehistoric thing in Corralejo.
