Not AI

 

Reminding drivers to slow down when entering our garage?

Modern cars can be very smart; sometimes frustratingly so. Even if you appreciate the thought, being repeatedly told to "keep your eyes on the road" (when you are actually scanning for potential danger) can become a bit annoying. I call these systems "AS-AA" - Artificially Smart (AS) until they aren't; then they become AA (Actually Annoying). "AS-AA" should be said, "ASS-AHH!" - as if it were a martial arts call, yelled while delivering the coup de grace. You will be surprised how much this helps.

"Keep your eyes on the road".
"ASS-AHH!" 
(Slapping the steering wheel with your hand at the same time may also help).

One useful thing, though, is automatic speed limit detection. Our car is reasonably good at detecting speed limit changes and providing a warning when we exceed that limit by a margin. Except... in our small retirement village, there is a 5km speed limit, signalled by a custom private sign, which the car recognises correctly when we enter the village. This is good; we don't want to race through the village. BUT there is no exit sign to signal the return to 50km/hr when we leave the village. The consequence is that we then drive around town with the car beeping because it is exceeding 5km/hr in what is actually a 50km/hr zone. "ASS-AHH!"

After a month of living with this annoyance, we printed our own speed limit sign to hang on the back wall of the garage. The car recognises the sign when parking and is ready for the in-town speed when it goes out next time. Problem solved. Mostly.

The first Photograph

 

Well, I am at least 99% sure that this must be the first photograph I ever took. The year was 1952, the place was Perth, Scotland. My Mother and I had gone on holiday to see Dad, who was in Scotland doing survey work for the Ordnance Survey. That's them outside their tent - my tent was on the left.

I am pretty sure that I must have been the photographer, because there were only the three of us there, and the height at which the camera was being held seems to be that of a young child. Mum is looking proud, Father somewhat anxious about the camera. Clearly, I had yet to learn about taking pictures without things growing out of people's heads! This, though, must have been the start of a life-long affair with cameras.

Now, seventy-four years later, I carry two memories of that trip: The first was lying in bed at night and listening to the night train whistling in the distance as it went south to London. The second was playing in the tent with the new, yellow, Dinky-toy bulldozer that I got for my fourth birthday. It's surprising which memories stay and which fade; there is a photograph of me with "Bovril" the heifer, but I have no memory of the encounter, nor of actually taking this picture of Mum and Dad.

This picture is, of course, a digital reproduction of a physical photograph, from an actual album. I know that because I and my memories are part of the provenance for the image. I wonder, though, in a world where AI can reproduce an image from any era, with any subject, what value one can now place on any digital image, or even a print from a digital image, as being a representation of reality? It's all too easy today to create any digital 'reality' you like.  Perhaps I should take much greater care of my analogue negatives; one day a strip of Ilford XP2 may be the only proof of truth.

Real Photo Postcards - an early Instagram

As a life-long photographer, I am ashamed to say that I had never heard of "Real Photo PostCards" (RPPCs). RPPCs, it turns out, were the original 'Instagram'. Perhaps a little less "Insta" but filling exactly the same social purpose, a century before Instagram invaded our phones and eyeballs. RPPC pictures were of your life; the words, short descriptions and wishes for a friend or relative. Your personal 'feed' was probably an old shoe-box.

A sales brochure for the "3A Folding Brownie"

 

 It was 1903 when Kodak brought out the "3A Folding Brownie". It used a 122 format film that produced up to ten postcard-sized negatives (3.25" x 5.5") on a cartridge. These negatives could be contact printed onto postcard-sized photographic paper with a pre-printed postcard-style backing. Write your message, address the card and post. 

 

In those days, there were strict requirements for postcards; they had to be a certain size and, initially, the reverse side could only contain an address but, in 1902, UK regulations changed and the reverse was split in two, permitting both the address and a short message on the back.
The "Real Photo" part of their title was intended to differentiate these photo postcards from commercially mass-printed postcards. RPPCs were (almost) unique and very personal. So ubiquitous was this style of postcard that many were never sent through the post, but were simply printed and kept as personal photographs with annotations on the back. 

This one, from 1924, was probably sent as part of a larger 'care package' to a father working away from home.

Clearly, some commercial photographers offered RPPC prints as part of their portrait service. The following, 1919, example is one of two copies of the same picture, but with different reverse sides:

 

For the modern observer, there's something deeply evocative about the tactile connection represented by these cards. The "Real Photo Postcard" aesthetic isn't just about the chemistry of the print; it's about the weight of a message intended for a specific set of eyes. It’s a reminder that while our tools have evolved from silver salts to digital pixels, the core human urge to say Here I am, and I wanted you to see this, remains exactly the same.

So, there you have it; Real Photo Postcards - the early 1900s "Instagram".

 

Story of the week

We seem to live in a time when nearly all the news is bad news. America continues to 'go to the dogs', the planet is burning and no one in charge seems to care, the rich get richer while the homeless are to be "moved on" so that we are not reminded that they exist. That's a small smattering from the last few days. In the midst of such despair and gloom comes the story of "Fedora Man".

In case you were asleep while the Louvre was being robbed, "Fedora Man" was the gentleman photographed outside the museum walking past the police cordon.

"Fedora Man"

Perhaps, Fedora Man was a Parisian detective, the Internet wondered. And very quickly, his picture went viral. That, however, was not the story. According to Stuff here: https://www.stuff.co.nz/world-news/360880555/fedora-man-unmasked-meet-teen-behind-louvre-mystery, Fedora Man was fifteen-year-old Pedro Elias Garzon Delvaux, who has a penchant for dressing up 1940s style and who happens to like the characters of Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot. He also happened to be on a trip to the Louvre with his mother the day that it was robbed.

Pedro, as most fifteen-year-olds might, could have held his hand up and said, "That's me, I'm famous!" But no, Pedro, lover of mystery stories, let it run for three weeks, until too many people were asking, "Was that you?" Then he told his story. I won't repeat it here, you can read it yourself at the link above. But, in a world infested with so much crude brutality, we need more Pedros. People unafraid to bring elegance to the ordinariness of the everyday, to inject some mystery into the banality of life and just have some simple fun. Perhaps those are 2025's crown jewels. Guard them, there are thieves about.

Getting sorted

Sold!

 

 It's now October and, by the measure of recent years, this year has been manic. Moving house is difficult at the best of times; when you are both well into your senior years, it can seem next to impossible. For a while, our only goal was to survive the next open home - there were ten in all, the last one on 27 July. Then, finally, on 18 September, moving day was upon us. Our movers were great; they came and packed, transported everything and cleaned the empty house. I must admit that paying the bill was significantly less stressful than doing all the work ourselves.

 

I'm glad that we didn't leave it any longer before selling the castle and downsizing. The last seven months have been exhausting enough, even though we had professionals doing most of the heavy lifting. At our age, taking six months out to work on moving house seems like a significant inroad to our remaining years; another few years, and it feels like the stress could have been terminal. Still, here we are, all in one piece and ready to make the most of the remaining years.

Our new 'digs'

We are now five weeks into our new home, and things are beginning to fall into place. There is still much to do to make it 'our place', but we have made a good start. As the garage slowly emptied of storage boxes, the car finally managed to get undercover last week. A dog-proof gate has been installed on the courtyard entrance, insect screens for doors and windows are being manufactured, and the landscape man is looking at repaving our courtyard out the back.

The lounge.

Our unit is nice, less than half the size of the castle, but warm and comfortable. I have a small office, and Annette has a nice workroom out in the 'Pod'. There's a 5m square living area and a wonderful-looking modern kitchen. About that kitchen … we both liked it when we viewed the unit back in March. It is a modern upmarket design with some very snazzy appliances. After working in it for the last few weeks, we can also confirm that it is an absolute triumph of form over function. I could go on for the rest of this post about the kitchen's shortcomings, but suffice it to say, it is the most inefficient kitchen I have ever tried to work in. Looks, dear reader, aren't everything.

Courtyard and 'pod'

We have a large lawn out front, which someone else takes care of, and a nice-sized private courtyard, which is a bit shabby at the moment but will be made into a nice sunny space for sitting outside when the weather permits. We still have too much stuff (little stuff, not furniture), but we'll work through that in the coming weeks. 

 

Staying in Oxford has been good. If we had to find our feet in a new community as well as a new home, it would have been too much change. Bethany is now just a few meters up the same street, while Katie and her family are just around the corner. All up, this seems to be a good choice as a place to work out our retirement. We feel quite blessed.

 

Then, on Thursday last week, we had the strongest winds that we have seen for several years. Trees down, power lines down, trucks blown over - it affected everywhere from Southland to the middle of the North Island. Some of the more remote places are probably going to be without power for a week yet. Fortunately, our power went out during breakfast, but was back on in time to cook dinner - one of the advantages of living in a small town, I guess. First power outage in our all-electric home, though!

 

All this activity has, fortunately, diverted our attention from the fact that the USA continues its seemingly relentless march from world power to bankrupt impotence. There's still a way to go yet, but the direction of travel seems set and, rather than fix the problem, those who can seem to be fleeing the sinking ship. I guess that's what you get when a country puts individuality above community, power above truth, and braggadocio above character. Whatever you think of his predecessors, Trump will at least earn his place in the history books as the president who swung the wrecking ball - both figuratively and literally (goodbye, East Wing). Oh dear, that probably means I am on some administrative blacklist now. C'est la vie.

A week with Anytype

 

Anytype looks like a local first, privacy-focused alternative to Notion. I have used Notion in the past and generally liked it, though not for its web-based philosophy and price structure. Anytype avoids those Notion disadvantages by being secure, local and free - though with paid options if needed. There are many similarities between Anytype and Notion, so from a superficial perspective, the comparison with Notion is fair. 

 

I first tried Anytype shortly after it was released as a beta product in 2021. Then, it was too early in its development to be a serious prospect, and I put it to one side. Now, four years later, that has changed, and Anytype, though still in beta (v0.47.5), is maturing and getting fairly feature-packed. Perhaps I could use it to build a PKM (Personal Knowledge Management) system that is better suited to my specific needs than Obsidian? 

 

Managing expectations: - Anytype isn't really an application; it's a tool to build an application. It's only an "everything app" because, like putty, you can shape it into whatever you can imagine. So, when you can't find an app that does exactly what you want, then you may be able to create it in Anytype

 

First impressions

First impressions are not very good. Not because Anytype is bad per se, but because it is not easy to learn.

• There is currently a lack of well-made tutorials on YouTube. Those that do exist tend to be of the 'do this, click here, do that' variety, lacking in any explanation of 'why'.
• There are examples available (in the gallery), but again, they lack any explanation for the design choices made. They may get you started, but they are not good learning tools.
• There is application documentation on the web, but it is low-level technical and lacking in any high-level "if you want to do this sort of thing, you might approach it in this way" style of information.

 

To my mind, learning Anytype is summed up best by analogy: Imagine signing up for driving lessons and when you turn up on the first day, you are shown a garage full of car parts and told, "Just assemble these and then we can go for a drive". Anytype is a bit like that, and after the first three days, I still felt as though I was learning what the parts were and how they best fit together to achieve my objective of a PKM system.

 

I guess that many potential Anytype users might give up during this 'assembly' process and that Anytype need to address this problem before adding many more 'parts' to the garage.

Second impressions

I'm a persistent old sod and won't be easily deterred, so I pressed on and continued building. By the end of the first week, I had learned what object types possessed what properties, that what I had assumed could be "collections" (thank you template) worked better as "queries", and so many other detailed things. The car still isn't built yet, but it is beginning to look more like a car, and each time I add a new part, there is a sense of achievement.

 

The issue is that I am conflicted about continuing. I really shouldn't be investing this amount of time in building a customised PKM system that exactly suits my needs. But, at the same time, it is an intellectual challenge that produces a certain sense of satisfaction when a new part of the puzzle comes together.

 

Perhaps that's the thing, To use another analogy, Anytype is like a bottomless box of Lego bricks, you can make almost anything you like. There are no plans, so there's going to be a lot of trial and error, lots of searching for a brick that's just the right shape (if it exists). The payoff at the end is that you could have something you'll be proud of creating. If that's your thing, then Anytype may be for you. But I suspect that most people should move on - nothing to see here, folks.

 

As for now, and to keep the analogy train rolling, I'm continuing to build the plane while flying it. I wrote this article in Anytype; it belongs to my "Writing & Blog" area, which is part of a modified PARA* template provided by Anytype. Maybe learning while doing is not the best approach, but for now, the plane's tank still has loads of fun-juice, so let's keep on flying and hope the fun-tank doesn't run dry before I land this thing.

 

In the future?

I've been looking (with a certain amount of amusement) at one of the latest approaches to software development - A.I. vibe-coding. You tell an AI what you want to achieve (the vibe), and the AI goes away and writes the code to make an application to do just that (sort of). 

 

It seems to me that Anytype could well benefit from such an AI front end. It would allow users to describe the application they wanted, and an AI could simply use Anytype's objects to create that application "automagically", as my developer friends used to say. I don't know what an AI-built Anytype app would be like, but it wouldn't take a week to build.

 

You can find Anytype at: https://anytype.io

*PARA - Projects, Areas, Resources, Archive. An approach to knowledge management by Tiago Forte.

Breakfast - beyond cereal and milk

 After a month of watching the USA slipping into reactionary darkness, something lighthearted ... 

Seventy years of cereal and milk ... cereal and milk ... cereal and - well you get the idea. From childhood to retirement, breakfast was nearly always cereal and milk. There were occasional exceptions - usually when travelling and staying in hotels where a "Full English" might be on the menu. But, in the normal course of events, it has been seventy years of cereal and milk.

Cereal and milk is a very practical choice. When you have woken, with just enough time to wash and dress before leaving for school or work, five minutes for cereal and milk is the ideal answer. Even the Egg Marketing Board's encouragement to "go to work on an egg" didn't dissuade. Not that cereal and milk will get you to lunchtime, but it might do until morning tea.

Retirement changes everything. When I retired at 73, one of the first things to change was my morning routine and especially, breakfast. I'm not lazy; I still get up around 6:30 am to make a large mug of tea (for me) and coffee (for Annette). We drink these while reading the day's news (phone, not newspaper) and doing Wordle. At 7:30 I feed the dog and head for the shower. By 8:30, I am dressed and in the kitchen ready to cook breakfast. By and large, this has been the routine for the last three-and-a-half years.

I realised the other morning, as I was standing at the stove, that this was probably my favourite retirement activity. Many other activities bring me pleasure, but breakfast happens Every Single Day. I look forward to feeling the knife cut the first mouthful, as my tastebuds jiggle with anticipation. They know what's coming because I cook the same breakfast every single day too - if it's not broke, don't fix it.

Before the fold.

Breakfast recipe: Two well-beaten eggs in a frying pan; five minutes. Then a slice of homemade bread is cut in two and placed in the egg. Sides folded in and the whole thing flipped. Tomato sliced and arranged on one piece of the bread; mushrooms sliced and arranged on the other. Hold the mushrooms in place with a cheese slice and fold the whole thing into a sandwich. Fry each side for five minutes. Eat.

Having the same breakfast every day may sound rather boring to some; to me, it provides a foundation of certainty from which to tackle the uncertainties of elder-life. If you like, a slice of heaven in the here and now. You might want to give it a try.

Peter, Paul and Mary

Peter, Paul and Mary

I was saddened when, in 2009, Mary Travers passed away. Now, at the beginning of 2025, Peter Yarrow has gone too. He was 86. Noel Paul Stookey is now the only remaining member of Peter, Paul and Mary, he is 87.

I feel the loss - which makes no sense as I didn't know them in person; only by their music which was part of the background to my teenage years. Two of their LPs (Long-Playing records), from 1962 and 1963, sit in my attic and the 24 tracks are on the phone in my pocket right now. So, in a real way, I still have them with me in 2025. And yet I feel the loss.

So what is this loss? I never met them and I still have their music so nothing is missing today that I had back in the 1960s and have had every year since. But, if I let my mind dwell for too long, there will be tears - I can feel them lurking even as I write this.

There is something more than the physical going on here. However tangentially, these people were part of my life. I assimilated their music because it resonated with me; the resonations were part of me then and are still part of me now. Even today (perhaps especially today) I could feel the intensity in songs like "If I Had a Hammer" - PPM sang them, but for about two minutes each time, I would be singing with them (in my head), I could share their passion. The death of Peter Yarrow and before him, Mary Travers, doesn't change any of that, except now I know that the source of the passion has gone. 

As I age, there have been several times when It dawns on me that I AM the older generation. The people I used to look up to are going. Each time it happens it's a bit sobering; I do hope that no one is looking up to me.  I'm living in a world that I helped to shape and, quite frankly, there's a lot about it that I don't like. My parents and their generation came through a World War but they handed on a world of hope, and a vision for a better future.  I'm not sure what my generation will be handing on. It looks a bit of a mess, frankly. Perhaps, If I had a hammer ...

2025: A fresh Start ...

"Ivy" - 2024
Oppo A9, developed in DxO PhotoLab

 

2024 was an odd year. I turned 76 which, given the less-than-stellar state of my kidneys, was an accomplishment in itself. But, looking back, 2024 largely seemed like a year of waiting for things to happen rather than grasping the year by its horns (as it were). Partly, this was down to a January bout of COVID which left me unable to focus on anything for more than half an hour at a time. Or that could just been an excuse for idleness. It's hard to tell.

Anyway, I am determined that 2025 should be different so, rather than wait around for things to improve on their own, I am developing new strategies to help me work in smaller, bite-sized chunks. If I can't write a blog post all in one session, then I need tools to manage all the little bits and pull them into a semi-cogent whole at the end. It's a work in progress but there are positive signs (the existence of this post being one of them).

Our family grew by one during the year when "Ivy" joined us. We have been a 'dogless' family for the last ten or more years since "Izy" (our Whippet) had a stroke and died, so there has been quite a bit of adjustment on our part. By the way, the similarity in dog names is entirely coincidental; Ivy came with her name already attached. She is, officially, a "Chinese Crested Powder-puff" and is of somewhat nervous disposition, but growing used to us as we are to her.

Photography was the one thing that didn't take too much of a hit in 2024. Perhaps because it is, quite naturally, an activity that proceeds in small related chunks. Day-long sessions at the computer were out, but this was a good thing as it made me work on one image at a time. This slower, more deliberate, approach to picture-making has meant that I have been generally much happier with the outcome. "Silver linings" and all that.

"Long Shadows on Pearson Park" - 2024
Nothing Phone 2a, developed in DxO Photolab.

At the end of 2023, I had decided to try my hand at print-making. A cyanotype kit even arrived at Christmas that year. In the event, the mental challenge of working through the intricacies of making cyanotype prints, just seemed beyond me during 2024 and the kit sat unopened all year. I now feel that 2025 is the time, though the task still seems a little daunting. Time for the "girding of loins", methinks.

 Never one for making New Year's resolutions, this post is beginning to sound remarkably like one. Perhaps it's the recognition that 2024 seemed so uneventful that's prompting a backlash of resolve? Though I keep reminding myself that, just because 2024 didn't turn out the way I had planned, it does NOT mean that it was a wasted year; far from it. Many things got done, many lessons were learned and we continued to move forward. Just not in the way I had originally planned.

 The lesson of 2024, it seems, is that plans are only good for filling in the gaps that life leaves blank. The rest of life is about learning to surf the waves that life delivers. Me, novice surfer.

"Wipe Out" - 2010
Nikon D80, developed in DxO PhotoLab.

 

So, that's the stake in the ground. Let 2025 begin.

Over the sea to Skye

A week ago, had someone asked me if I had ever visited the Isle of Skye, I would have probably said, "I don't think so". In a more adamant mood, I might simply have said "No". I would have been wrong.

Leaving aside the questionable use of photo editors and artificial intelligence, actual photographs don't lie. So, while revisiting some of my Kodak slides from the early 1970s, I came across some pictures that caused me to wonder, 'Where was that taken?'

Where was that taken?

Fortunately, there is Google. A reverse image search told me that this was a view of Uig on the Isle of Sky. Really? Sure enough, a bit of playing around with Google Street View, allowed me to see Uig from close to the spot I must have stood to take the photo:

Google Street View looking over Uig

There have been changes in the last 50 years: The wharf at Uig has been extended, grass no longer grows in the middle of the road, and barriers have been erected to protect the careless.

The revelation of a Skye visit also made sense of some other photos, like a picture of churning water, taken from a boat - the Skye ferry (before the current Skye bridge was built) and the view from Duntulm Castle (apparently now fenced off from the public).

View from Duntulm Castle

Many photographers travel the globe looking for unusual places to photograph. Of course, that inevitably leads to others following in their footsteps and the uniqueness of those photographs soon fades. 

I'm just back from a virtual visit to Skye in the 1970s. The 1970s was pre-internet, pre-Instagram, pre the explosion of digital photography. If you want a picture of Uig without Armco barriers or the view from a now-inaccessible castle, then I'm sorry; you're a bit late. Isn't time travel wonderful? 

I like the 1970s, "Over the bridge to Skye" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

A New Thing for a New Year

 I got a new computer for Christmas.

I remember when this was the bleeding edge of portable computing!

Well, actually, no. I'm still using the same computer that I purchased for my retirement, nearly three years ago. It's not the latest or greatest but it still performs as well as it did when new. However, over the Christmas/New Year break, I did acquire three new pieces of software and that new software has made my computer seem like it is a 'new' computer.

Not that it matters to anyone else, but I have a new image editor (RAW Power), a new 'read later' app (Omnivore), and a new browser (Arc). I'll not bore you with the details but, between them, they have changed the way I use my computer as well as my phone and tablet - everything feels like 'new'.

All this 'new computer' malarkey, caused me to think about the New Year. Traditionally, we make a big thing about seeing out the old year and ringing in the new. However, some of us find it difficult to detect any significant difference between December 31st and January 1st. New Year celebrations just leave us a little … unmoved - like not getting a new computer for Christmas. But, what if we got new software for the year ahead? Would that make it seem more like the fresh New Year it is supposed to be? 

Putting something new into the new year may be the basis for those resolutions we flirt with each January. But resolutions are not what I am thinking of here. It isn't about resolving to go to the gym more regularly; that is not a new thing. Rather, what new breath of fresh air am I going to allow into my life in 2024? What new thing am I going to try?

Those are the keywords - TRY and THING. It's not a commitment like a resolution, it's a decision to play with someTHING. It's a decision to embrace your inner child and TRY something new. Maybe that THING will stick, maybe it won't. Maybe it will be a disaster or maybe the start of something good. The key is that you TRY someTHING new to you - perhaps, several someTHINGs throughout the year.

I already know what one of my new things will be. I decided a couple of months ago that I wanted to try my hand at printmaking. The details are a bit fluid but I have been gathering resources and I know where I am going to start. We'll see where it goes from there. It's one new piece of software for what I hope will really seem like a New Year.

Have a great New Year everyone - and don't forget to TRY a THING.

Back where we started

Image - Newshub

Here, in New Zealand, we are deep into election season and a torrent of political posturing is sweeping the country like a river in flood. With this in mind, as I was browsing "Papers Past" the other day, my attention was caught by this letter to the editor of the Oxford Observer, from September 1889:

To the Editor of The Observer.  

Sir, Allow me to express my pleasure with the capital article in your issue of the 7th Sept., on the great struggle now pending between Labor and Capital. How grievous to anyone with a heart to feel for another is the knowledge that in this fair land of ours hundreds of our fellow-creatures toil almost day and night for a bare existence, all their labor bringing to them no more than sufficient to keep body and soul together. How sad to think of poor young girls deprived of all which makes life pleasant by the cruel "sweating" system; and, oh, sad beyond words, is the fact that many beg for work (which to them means bread) in vain.  

This is a subject on which I feel very strongly; it seems to me so cruelly unjust that one should give up all their strength. all their energy and time, and only receive in return just enough to support life in the most miserable fashion. Stick to your colors, Mr Editor, and write boldly as a friend of labor.  

Nowadays if a man is poor he is treated by many as if he were an intruder on the Earth, who ought to be thankful that he is allowed to live at all.  

I am, Sir, your sincere well-wisher,  

AJAX.

The letter is 130 years old but, aside from one or two details (and some archaic language), it could have been written today. I'm tempted to say that 'nothing changes' but that's not true. New Zealand had changed from the situation described in this letter and, by the middle of the 20th century, we had a much-improved situation for the majority of New Zealand's citizens. I know, I was there and experienced it. Then came the "Rogernomics" of the 1980s. In many ways, New Zealand did need to change but it seems, in hindsight, that we threw out the baby with the bathwater. New Zealand embraced the free market with a zealous disregard for the consequences of deregulated greed. 

What followed, was a steady decline in the living standards of ordinary New Zealanders, until we find ourselves in the present parlous position of unaffordable housing, homeless living on the streets, a healthcare system that seems broken beyond repair, and food so expensive that some people are forced to routinely rely on food banks. 

Image - Stuff

While this goes on, many businesses are returning stellar profits on the back of an increasing number of workers who don't receive a living wage*. Effectively, business relies on taxpayer-funded handouts to supplement poor pay with income support schemes like Working For Families. Letting business off the living wage hook in this back-handed way needs to stop. 

As Ajax wrote in 1889, "it seems to me so cruelly unjust that one should give up all their strength. all their energy and time, and only receive in return just enough to support life in the most miserable fashion." We simply have too many New Zealanders today earning less than is required to live adequately. Do any of our political parties have a plan to fix that? 

When it comes time to cast your vote next month, have a think about where our country is going. Do we continue downward as we have for the last thirty years or has someone got a better plan than that?

* By "living wage" I don't mean any official "Living Wage" figure, I simply mean wages that allow a person to live an adequate life. 

TTArtisan's cunning little light meter

It's small, it looks good, it fits on my old film cameras and it doesn't break the bank. What's not to like?

Well, according to some reviews, these meters just aren't very accurate. For the first few weeks, I thought I had one of those inaccurate meters - until I realised that I wasn't using it correctly. Turns out I had a bad case of RTFM. Now that I've read the manual, I'm happy with the meter and the results agree with the old hand-held meter that I brought from Boots The Chemist sometime in the 1960s (yes, that one still works).

The TTArtisan light meter and its packaging.

Somehow, I had got confused by the little button on the back of the TTArtisan light meter, thinking that it was the "On" switch; turn it on, point the meter at the light, adjust the dials and get your settings. Simple. No, no, no! The manual (which I had only skimmed) makes it clear that this is the "Metering button". First, you point the meter at the scene, THEN you press the button and adjust the dials appropriately. The meter is NOT constantly metering the scene; only when the button is pressed. 

What I had been doing was turning it on (actually taking a reading), then pointing it at the scene and adjusting the dials. No wonder the readings were all over the place - it could have been pointing anywhere when I 'turned it on'. I wonder how many experienced 'geniuses' (like me) relied on their old knowledge of light meters, got bad readings and blamed this little light meter?

The light meter attached to the Kiev 4a

There really isn't anything not to like here; the TTArtisan light meter is everything it appears to be AND it does the job well. Oh, and it comes in a nice little box with a screwdriver to change the position of the foot if needed. Just a pity a battery wasn't included and that I didn't heed the instruction to "Please read the manual carefully before use."

About $78 (if you can find one) from TTArtisan.

This camera is a mutt

... and I love it. It's also a camera with history.

As a user of vintage cameras, there was a time when I wanted an older Leica. The Leica name is synonymous with excellent build quality (and stratospheric prices). But, as time went on, I became aware that all was not necessarily perfect in Leica land. Those prized, early, Barnack Leicas, had issues that made them less than perfect working cameras. Nice to keep on the shelf perhaps, but not so nice to be taking photos with. (See here for a rundown of the issues: https://petapixel.com/2022/12/21/barnack-quirks-an-intro-to-shooting-with-early-35mm-leica-cameras/)

In 1930s  Germany though, there was a camera specifically designed by Zeiss Ikon to out-Leica the Leicas of the time. The Contax was designed to be everything a Leica was and then some. While the first Contax suffered from being somewhat rushed to market, it was the Contax II from 1936 that delivered the goods, beating Leica with an integrated viewfinder/rangefinder, better shutter mechanism, faster shutter speeds, better film loading, and a significantly more accurate rangefinder. 

The original Contax II from 1936

The Contax II became a much sought-after camera for working professionals, especially press photographers, who needed a small camera which delivered great image quality and was able to take the punishment dished out in daily use. Production of the Contax in Dresden survived the war years and continued post-war until the Russians dismantled the factory and moved the manufacturing plant and most of the German engineers to Kiev in Ukraine.

Production of the Contax continued in Kiev using the same machine tools and technicians as in the Dresden factory. Nothing changed except for the name - Contax was dropped in favour of the name "Kiev" after the city in which it was now produced. Some of the early Kiev cameras still had "Contax" embossed on the inside of the front plate.

My copy of the Kiev 4a - the flash sync port was a later addition.

Production of Kiev cameras continued largely unchanged for the next 40 years. They progressed from Kiev to Kiev2, Kiev3 and Kiev 4 with only minor changes until production was finally terminated in 1987. During the 1980s, the quality of the Keiv cameras started to suffer as a result of ageing machine tools and the loss of all the original Contax staff. It is rumoured that, in the 1980s, whole batches of Kiev cameras were dumped because they didn't pass quality control. 

The Kiev 4a - opened for loading film

As a camera from 1977, the Kiev is not very impressive - most cameras of the era were much more sophisticated. But, as a camera designed in 1936, it was already streets ahead of its Leica contemporaries and makes a very useable camera for anyone who knows their 'f' stops from their shutter speeds. I took it for a walk around our local school to test it out and came away impressed.

Kiev 4a, f8 @ 1/125, Ilford FP4

So, my replacement for the Leica which I can't afford is a Kiev 4a. Basically, a 1936  camera designed by Contax in Germany but built in Kiev in 1977. If this camera were a dog, it would be a mutt.

(Support Ukraine; buy an old Russian camera.)

Sticky shutters and Fairy houses

One of the enduring problems with many older cameras is the 'sticky shutter'. Many cameras with older leaf shutters, start seizing up at slower speeds. Sometimes they stop altogether.  I've had my share of those and they usually get consigned to the 'dead camera' box, as a repair usually exceeds its value. 

Agfa Isolette III, f3.5 Solinar lens.

One such camera was an Agfa Isolette, a 6x6 folder from the 1950s. I acquired it about two years ago in excellent cosmetic condition and with one of Agfa's higher-spec lenses, but ... sticky shutter. I dug it out of the dead box while cyclone Gabrielle was making it unpleasant outside and spent an hour or two dribbling lighter fluid into the shutter and exercising it. Surprisingly, it started to work, and eventually, the shutter was doing a nicely timed cerrrrrrrrclunk at the one-second setting. The following day, it was still cerrrrrrrrclunking nicely and so I loaded up some Ilford FP4 and went for a walk under dull but dry skies. 

Ashly Gorge, track through the forest - 1 second at f8; colourised black and white.

I might be getting old, but not too old to smile whenever I find one of the 'fairy houses' scattered throughout the forest. I came across this one in a rather dark place.

'Fairy house' fixed to a Redwood Tree. 8 seconds at f8

Inside each house, there is usually a pithy little saying. This one says "Be awesome ... be a book nut." Thank you, I am. 

'Fairy house' - 1/2 second at f8.

There's something very satisfying about using a seventy-year-old camera, to take black-and-white photos and ending up with coloured pictures. Not quick mind you, but satisfying; digital has just become far too easy. (There's a time and place for 'easy'.)

OlyPen II

 It was just before Christmas 2021 that I got my first Olympus Pen half-frame camera, an Olympus Pen D3 (https://misc.fords.co.nz/2022/01/olympus-pen-d3.html). I ran several rolls of film through that camera and, at the time, loved using it more than any of my other cameras (film or digital). The 32mm f1.7 lens was remarkably sharp and I got amazingly crisp and clear pictures from such a small frame size. Then, one day, the ‘click’ didn’t, and on investigation I found the shutter blades lying in a heap in the middle of the lens. The OlyPen had died.

Christmas 2022, bought OlyPen II to my door. It is a Pen EED model with fully automated exposure and that same 32mm f1.7 lens that I loved on the Pen D3. The Pen EED was manufactured between 1967 and 1972, though you wouldn’t know it to look at my copy. It has a much more modern design than the Pen D3 and I was fortunate to find one in immaculate condition.

Olympus Pen EED (1967-1972)

Aside from being small and portable, all the OlyPens, and most half-frame film cameras in general, have one unusual feature - when you hold them naturally, they take pictures in the portrait orientation, rather than the more common landscape. If you want landscape on an OlyPen, you must turn it sideways. 

This portrait orientation is no minor detail. It wasn't until I first used the OlyPen D3 that I realised that I naturally preferred portrait orientation. This natural preference, however, had always been suppressed by the poor ergonomics of holding my other cameras sideways. Once I used the OlyPen, I went from 80% landscape to shooting 95% portrait. The portrait orientation also lends itself to a diptych or triptych series in a way that landscape pictures don't. 

At the skate-park

Being half-frame images, the negatives from the OlyPen are never going to hit the heights of medium format for quality, nor even a good full-frame 35mm camera, but that isn't the OlyPen's purpose. The OlyPen is a carry-everywhere snapper - if artists carry a sketchbook, then the OlyPen is the photographer's sketchbook. Having said that, the OlyPen produces 20Mp scanned images that easily hold their own on social media and anything up to an 8"x10" print; thanks largely to that wonderful Olympus lens.

Mexican dominoes

I expect to have a lot more fun playing with the little OlyPen II. Hopefully, it will last a lot longer than my broken D3 before it gets taken to camera heaven.

Playing in the playground with the OlyPen

OlyPen photos were taken on either Fomopan 100 or Ilford FP4, developed in Rodinal, semi-stand for 1hr.

I’ve been bad; very bad

After trying, with only partial success, to cull my camera collection, I ended up returning one camera to active service, buying another camera, and had a third camera boomerang back, from 2012. This probably isn’t good.

Originally, I had put my Fujifilm X-M1 up for sale, but it sat without interest over the winter months. Then, on a whim, I decided to send it away to be converted to infrared. It came back from Oz at the end of October, just as we were leaving for Oamaru. 

Oamaru public gardens - Fujifilm X-M1, 720nm Infrared.

I loved the results, so that’s one camera that's now back on active duty.

Probably, my greatest sin (though not the most costly) was pressing the “Buy Now” button on a Fujifilm FZ-3000. This is a somewhat bizarre-looking film camera from the early 1990s. My excuse was that it was brand new and still in its original packaging - a rare find for $60.

Auto everything, the camera was light to carry and simple to use. When I want to shoot 35mm film without the hassle of carrying around the Nikon FE, this is surely the camera to use. 

West Oxford Hotel - Fujifilm FZ-3000, Ilford FP4+, Rodinol.

Unsolicited, my son returned the Nikon D80 that I had given him in 2012. He had replaced it several years ago and it had been sitting unused ever since. Who wants a 10Mp digital camera in 2022?

Nostalgia beckoned and, after kickstarting the battery into life, I took it out for a walk. Low expectations here. But, what I hadn’t factored into my thinking was that software has improved leaps and bounds since I last used this camera.

So I ran the 10Mp files through Topaz Photo AI, and out popped some stunning 40Mp images that compared very well with my current cameras. I was a bit gob-smacked, to be honest.

View to Mt. Oxford, across Pearson Park, Oxford, NZ - Nikon D80.

Now I’m in a bit of a quandary; I have a perfectly usable DSLR camera which won’t be worth much (because, low specs) but produces beautiful images for anyone with the right software (e.g. me). Should it join the other nine cameras on active duty, each wagging their tails like dogs in a pound awaiting adoption?

What to do?