Does clever quickly; simple takes time

In recommending Picasa as a neat way of cropping images Lucy was disdainful of Photoshop, describing it as “over-engineered”. I completely agree. Although my version is only Photoshop Elements (presumably for those who are technically challenged) nothing comes easily and I’ve never dared crack “layers” at all.

Just recently I wanted to join two photos side by side and turn them into a single file. I felt sure Photoshop would allow this simple task, yet the hours slid by. As is often the case with software the solution arrived by accident though I’ve now forgotten the exact Damascene moment. In case you’re wondering, go File > New > Photomerge Panorama, which is not exactly intuitive. The Help was no help at all if you weren’t aware of that key word photomerge.

And yet… I needed a photo of a F4U Corsair, a WW2 carrier-based fighter. I found a good one but (see top pic) it had all that garbage in the foreground. Could Photoshop do the job? It could, the tool and its usage were self-explanatory, and in an hour – voila! My first attempt at such an elaborate touch-up. But I still haven’t forgiven PE for the photomerge obscurity.

Those that can, do; those that can't, blog

One of the themes running through Patrick O’Brien’s Aubrey/Maturin novels of the Napoleonic era is competence. Jack Aubrey is a supremely competent ship’s commander who justifiably gets to fly “blue at the mizzen” (ie, is promoted admiral) by the end of the twenty-book series. His surgeon Stephen Maturin competently opens up an injured seaman’s skull, “rouses up his brains” in the words of the crew, and covers his work with a carapace made from a silver coin hammmered and shaped by the ship’s blacksmith.

More competent than either is Aubrey’s bosun, Barrett Bonden. When a line needs throwing with great accuracy, or the jolly boat needs taking in through surf, or a hostile vessel needs boarding, Bonden’s your man.

I adopted this name when commenting on a piece about horticulture on Plutarch’s blog. When I started my own blog I thoughtlessly used the same name. And now it has come home to haunt me. The fact is I am not competent! My recent pieces on converting LPs to CDs and using an angle grinder attest to this. I feel I am dishonouring the good bosun’s name.

I did ask Plutarch whether a more appropriate name would be Joe Plaice – the subject of Maturin’s daring surgery (see above). But Plutarch said time had debased that name which now sounds like a smartyboots West End fish and chippery. So BB stays but the act of contrition was necessary. I have only hi-jacked Bonden’s name, not his abilities.

A sort of spot-the-ball competition

Delays in the focussing/light assessing abilities of a cheap digital camera made it difficult to capture this particular moment during our Languedoc holiday. However, after a few boss shots I finally snatched proof that grandson Zach and son-in-law Darren appreciated the pool at our rented villa and we've booked the place for the same two weeks next year.

Studying the photo more closely I began to wonder just what the picture represents. Is Zach rising, has he reached the apogee, or is he falling? The angle of the strap on his life-jacket is no doubt significant to a trained aerodynamicist but that is just one more field where my knowledge could "crawl under a snake's belly wearing a top hat" (a phrase used by a RAF instructor teaching me - futilely - how to aim a rifle during national service).

However virtually everyone who supplies comments to this blog is better educated than me et j'attends avec impatience.

Diamonds not a timekeeper's best friend

Apart from a £5 digital Casio which I use to time my swimming (also while ski-ing, until old age took away my lift-pass), I have only owned two wrist-watches. Both Longines, both the subject of some sentiment.

The one on the left was a gift from my mother for my twenty-first which, incidentally, I spent at a military hospital in the Cameron Highlands in Malaya, suffering from terminal athlete’s foot. The one on the right was a thirtieth-wedding anniversary present from my wife. Both keep excellent time given their technology. Which means that the older watch, being mechanical, cannot match the younger, electrical one.

I am told that the older watch qualifies as an antique and would make squillions on eBay. I’d rather open my veins.

I mention this because I recently attended an auction where many watches were sold (Only of passing interest; I was there for wine and spent a fortune.). Some were encrusted with diamonds, some had three mini-dials within the main one, some had built-in magnifying glasses. None had faces to equal the clarity of either of mine. In both cases the Longines minute hand is so delicate and the minute divisions so precise you can tell time to 10 seconds – with analogue watches!

As Basil Fawlty said in another context – it’s so basic.

The slob's guide to LP - CD transfer

Sentiment pulled one way and the enormity of the task pulled another. Our disc turntable was a space-encroaching anachronism yet we still had 220 LPs. Convert the LPs into CDs then? But a pickup arm only functions in realtime. A complete transfer would take about 92 hours solid.

The decision was precipitated when we opted for a custom-made unit to hold the TV, the amp/tuner, the player, the VCR (now, of course, a DVD unit) and the CDs. One or two observations:

How likely are you to want to hear one of the Diabelli variations separate from the others. Not very, eh? Good, then simply record each side of the LP as two continuous chunks. However, with Schubert songs each will need its own track. Fiddly but necessary.

Clean and re-clean the LPs before playing them with a Dust Bug. You won’t eliminate the scratches and the needle will occasionally catch – usually when you’re buttering a slice of toast – causing you to rush in and clumsily give it a nudge. You could re-record but that’s not me. It probably won’t be you after 15 – 20 hr of this nit-picking work. Don’t despair. On the CD the repeated groove will be agony but with an underlay of comfort. It will right itself!

With 220 or more LPs there’ll be those you haven’t played for ages. Epiphanies await. In my case Schoeck’s “Notturno”.

Finally, after it was all done I swapped the turntable for a mobile phone.

Why I get sentimental about France

The original loo at our French house had a lever that looked like a bus gearchange. It operated a trapdoor… Inevitably the chromed fittings leaked.

At the mairie I asked the welcoming middle-aged woman if she could recommend a plumber. She did better than that. She made the phone call, explaining “there is this gentlemen who is suffering ennuis with his toilet”. I liked that. Ennui is both a problem and boredom. Yes, I was suffering boredoms with my toilet.

Monsieur (always Monsieur) Chauvel arrived promptly in his bleu de travail and his Pierre Laval moustache. He not only inspired confidence, he was essentially likeable.

The leak was immediately traced to a washer long since unavailable. M. Chauvel improvised and the loo remained leakless until it was replaced years later. I then drew his attention to the water-heating system: a tiny fifty-year-old geyzer over the sink linked via 20 m of copper tube to the shower and handbowl in the bathroom. M. Chauvel nodded. It needed a thingy which didn’t exist. But he could make one.

On the final day of our holiday he removed the geyzer from the wall and took it home with him. When we returned a month or two later it was back on the wall, repaired. M. Chauvel had picked up the key left with the menuisier and done the work in our absence.

At this time, artisans in Kingston-upon-Thames were charging £65 just to look at a sick washing machine. With no guarantees.

More on techno-hero Chauvel soon.

The seductions of speed

Blog-visitors to Works Well who aren’t turned on by motorbikes are having a thin time just now I’m afraid. But Plutarch asked me to explain the visual appeal of the Honda Fireblade (see July 5 post).

Honda admit this Fireblade has very strong links with the bikes they race in MotoGP – the two-wheel equivalent of Formula One. The phrase “street-legal racer” is legitimate. So what are the clues?

First, this is clearly not a two-seater. The distance between the wheel centres (the wheelbase) is too short; this makes the bike more agile round corners. Secondly, note the exaggerated distance between the rear mudguard and the rear wheel to accommodate the springing action of the (horizontal) rear fork. Very much a racing bike feature.

Speed through corners is dictated by the angle to which the bike can be heeled over as the picture on the right shows. Because of this components must be drawn as close to the engine as possible. Especially true of the exhaust pipe which is routed almost entirely under the engine.

High speeds require powerful brakes with most braking effort coming from the front wheel. Note the huge front brake disc. And the grippy fat rear tyre.

Yet despite the tight purposeful contours of the Fireblade’s engine it is liquid-cooled. Oh, and it revs to 12,000 rpm.

Again, thanks to Honda for the pix.

Old bones need warm radiators

After six years in the USA, returning in 1972, we were ill-prepared for a Britain which still lacked central heating. Desperately poor we somehow scraped up the money to have it installed in our tiny house (“suitable for an urban peasant”).

Heating technology had progressed which was just as well. The heater in Pittsburgh resembled a phone box whereas the Kingston-upon-Thames unit was the size of two large suitcases. In Pittburgh the furnace roared on through the night and, given those winter temperatures, we wouldn’t have had it any other way. In Kingston a timer switched things off at 10.30 pm, encouraging an interest in thermal blankets.

The new furnace (actually now 10 years old) here in Hereford is smaller still and is tucked away in the garage. It heats the detached four-bedroom house with ease and has only put up one black so far when the feeder to the pilot light became blocked. It took the plumber some time to remedy this as I furiously enquired how much an electronically fired furnace would cost. Pilot lights seemed so passé. When all was well the plumber cautioned patience and the furnace has worked perfectly for the ensuing four years.