All the news that's fit to type.

 

REMINDER: Brisbane type-in - 2pm this Sunday at the Museum room at the Breakfast Creek Hotel.

 

 

 

Reasing = reading. Urg! 

Politics and fixing the Bijou

Some names below have been changed to protect the person's identity. 

Correction: *made in a way.

Last night I sat down and decided to try out a few ideas I had to fix a couple of the problems with the Bijou that Robert gave me. I fell in love with the type action of this machine the moment that I laid my hands on the keyboard, and I really wanted to get this typewriter fully working.

It turned out to be easier than I thought. And just as well, as while I was trying to work on the Bijou yesterday, a bit of an online drama was unrolling around me.

It all started yesterday afternoon. I arrived home from work and flicked my computer on to check my email and have a bit of a look at what light-hearted waffle had been posted on Facebook throughout the day. I run a program on my computer called 'Social fixer' and I was immediately confronted by a long list of Facebook 'Friends' who had had their profiles shut down. I also noticed that all of these friends were people that I known from a political activism group I had helped out some time back.

Something was wrong. I popped into a couple of private Facebook groups and left some messages to see if anyone knew what happened to these people's Facebook profiles. Usually those groups are  full of lively discussion, but today they were eerily quiet. I was to learn later that not everyone's profiles had been shut down, but most of the people that I had tried to contact had had their profiles banned from being able to post in public areas, and on other people's 'walls'.

Eventually I would figure out had happened, and how it had happened. But right now I wasn't involved in the group of people it had happened to, so my profile had remained unaffected.

My friend Mitch's profile had been shut down. Mitch was currently living in Vietnam, and had now been there for over 2 years. As such,  Facebook remained his primary means of keeping in contact with the rest of the world and his social circle.


I stopped short of calling people to get the gritty what had happened, as I realised that this was something that I didn't want or need to get involved in. But I did have some real concerns about those that were.

*   *   *

This Bijou 5 is a wholly remarkable machine. Beautiful to look at and amazing to type on, this machine also has historical charm. It has keys that were devoted to marking out a Palestinian currency that hasn't been in use for over 50 years. 

But like all machines of the age of this Bijou, you can't avoid there being some problems. This Bijou had a couple, but nothing that wasn't insurmountable. Instead, I took the opportunity to try out some ideas that I'd had for a while, and had been looking for a candidate to try them on. 

The biggest problem with the Bijou was the platen and the rollers. The platen itself wasn't cracked - but it was rather hard and plasticised. The rollers however were still rubbery, but were suffering from probably the worst example of a flat-spot that I have ever seen. 

The platen was easy to deal with. I now had an opportunity to try out how well brake fluid works on the rubber of these platens, and much to my surprise, it actually worked quite well. I painted it onto the platen and left it for about an hour. after I washed it off the surface felt rubbery again, even if I really couldn't tell by pushing on it if it was any less hard. I scuffed the surface with a bit of rough sandpaper, and the platen looked and felt ready for business. That grey rubber tone had returned to the platen again. 

But there still was the problem with the rollers. I had put the platen back in, but the rollers still locked onto the paper every few lines, and refused to budge. Naturally, this was far from ideal. 

Realistically, the Platen and the rollers would be better of being recovered. But there was nothing wrong with trying a couple of things on them first. As the brake fluid had been so successful, thought I would try another experiment on the rollers. 

I'd been reading up on how to re-shape rubber after their shapes had been formed. A lot of people had been using heat on rubber parts to manipulate them into place. So I thought about it for a bit, and came up with an idea that I could try out on these rubber rollers. 

The technique was simple. A lot of people had been dropping their rubber pieces into a pot of boiling water. But I didn't feel that I needed to so much cook the rollers, as much as I needed to heat them. So I boiled the kettle, and dropped the rollers individually into a container that I then filled with boiling water. Doing it this way, the temperature was probably going to be 10-20 degrees lower - helping  retain the consistency of the rubber while I put it under stress. 

Getting the roller ready

From there rest of this was pretty straight forward. After letting the roller heat up for a bit, I used tongs to grab it out of of the water and place it onto a clean, flat and smooth surface. I then simply rolled each piece of rubber one at a time under a metal ruler - in order to try and push the roller back into a rounded shape. Much like how you make long and round pieces with clay. 

I wouldn't say it was a complete success. The flat spots didn't completely disappear, but they certainly rounded out a bit. Another interesting effect was that a very thin layer of rubber on the surface wore off. It was microns thick, and didn't really change the width of the rollers, but the rubber underneath was less plasticised than this thin surface layer. I cooled the rollers under cold water and sanded them down to get rid of the last of that surface layer. 

I'm in two minds about this surface layer. I'm not sure if I have opened up a seal that was originally on the roller, or I have simply removed a heavily oxidised and hardened top layer. 

*   *   *

I was re-assembling the Bijou when I heard the message tone on my phone. I didn't recognise the number, but it turned out to be Mitch. I hadn't spoken to Mitch outside of emails for pretty much the entire time he'd been in Vietnam, and it was a surprise to find he wanted to catch up on Skype ASAP. 

It was 10:15pm by this stage, but I still had about 20 minutes of of work left on the Bijou to go, so I agreed. Seconds later my iPad was buzzing with a voice call. I answered and listened to him on the speaker, while I continued to re-assemble the Bijou. 

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeey"! Mitch called out as I answered. He was clearly happy to be talking to me. 

"What's going on with your facebook profile" I asked.... 

Mitch is an eccentric but very intelligent man. He's a teacher who is very compassionate. Last we spoke a few years ago, he had learned and was fluent in 6 languages - and was hoping to make it to 8 quite soon. He's also very passionate about civil liberties and the rights of gays. 

He is also more camp than a row of tents, and so loaded with hormones that it is impossible to have a simple conversation with him, before it turns into a festival of innuendo. 

Indeed, I don't think there's a single subject matter in existence that Mitch couldn't turn into some kind of sexual euphemism. And a such, a conversation with him is always very entertaining. Within minutes of answering his call, I was almost in tears I was laughing so hard. My laughter was often met with Mitch loudly squealing 'Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat'! before he qualified it with 'I can't help it'! 

I started to find it hard to work on the Bijou. I was trying to wrangle the platen back into place, and had made 4 attempts at it before I pleaded with Mitch; "Stop it! Stop it! I can't concentrate on what I'm doing". 

"What are you doing" he enquired. 

"I'm trying to get the Platen back in". 

There was silence for a moment, before Mitch snappily asked "What's a platen". 

I thought about my answer for a moment and considered about how I would describe it to Mitch. 

The platen in my hand was a long and round object that was hard and coated in rubber. 

.......

"It's a thing" I replied in answer to his question. 

"A THING"? 

"Yep, a THING". 

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight" Mitch replied with scepticism. On the other hand, I felt I had dodged the bullet of the week. 

I managed to get the platen back into place, and everything bolted back down. Mitch and I talked for a little while longer, and I eventually discerned what had happened to everyone's Facebook profiles. Mitch had managed to get his account reinstated, but had been handed the same posting ban that I now suspected had been handed out to a fairly sizeable group of people. 

I won't detail here the how, why and wherefores of what had actually happened, as I had started this blog to largely get away from such activities. I gave Mitch a few contact numbers of people that could help him, and sent him on his way. He's a lovely guy, and a great friend, and I have a lot of time for him. But on this occasion there was a whole group of men and women I knew who had suddenly found themselves a little more restricted in their online social and political options, and honestly... I didn't want to get involved. 

Everything was quiet now, and despite all the laughter I had managed to get the Bijou back together again with little of a hitch. 

I can report that my wrangling with the rubber on the rollers had been successful. It wasn't perfect, but the Bijou now stopped locking the paper down and fed each sheet of paper through about as straight as anyone could want. I may not have been able to save the world, but I saved a Bijou. And to me that counts for a lot.

Shame though, if I had have been able to save the world, I might have been able to pick up some gorgeous Hollywood blond woman and live happily every after. That stuff happens, right? I've seen it in movies.

P.s. Incidentally, this is my 50th post. Thanks for being a great bunch of readers and typers! You're awesome. 

Round 1: Scott v's The Royal P

Warning: This blog entry is rated MA - for mature audiences. 
*Occasional coarse language. Which has nominally been bleeped out for you protection.
*Low level violence.
*Frequent bad movie references. 

This war, like all wars, started in a period of relative peace. I like relative peace. It is so peaceful in a relative way that I almost lull myself into a sense of security, before I snap myself out of it - in anticipation of the next major crisis. 

And no, I haven't built a bunker for the impending 2012 disaster and filled it with cans of Spam, beans and Camp Pie. I don't have to... I have still have the one set up for the millennium bug disaster. I rented it out to Harold Camping briefly last year, but he left it in almost perfect condition and I haven't seen him since. 

It was in this relative peacetime that I took a trip down to Canberra. While I was there Robert Messenger gave me two beautiful typewriters. A Bijou 5 and a chromed Royal P. 

 The beautiful Palestinian Bijou. 

The Royal P from hell. 

Both machines are stunningly beautiful. The Royal P in person is one of the most amazingly beautiful machines I have ever seen. With gleaming glass keys along with its chromed body, this machine looks so sharp, I feared touching it for ending up with bloodied fingers

Both machines have their problems. The Bijou's are simple and straight-forward. The Royal however, had a few faults that were likely to need some more serious attention. While Robert and I were talking at his house, he implied that the machine would need a complete teardown and rebuild. I felt this was a touch extreme, but i suspected that thee machine's frame - or at least internals, were somewhat warped.

The shell wasn't lining up with the body and some of the type bars were raised in the segment - but not as a result of being jammed with muck. The reason wasn't immediately obvious.

Also, the carriage wouldn't stay put. When the carriage moved closer to the middle of the unit, it would suddenly take off - before the escapement came back into play a couple of inches later, and the typewriter seemed to start operating again in typical fashion.

Outside of that most of the screws holding the body onto the machine were missing, as were a couple of springs that lock down the ribbon covers. The rubber feet were non-existant. On the plus side the platen appeared to have been re-covered sometime in the last 20 years, and although it showed signs of lots of typing activity it was still very nice and rubbery.

Looking at the machine from the front, I should have known what was going to come next. This machine is trouble - under the stunning supermodel looks was a machine with an attitude of pure ugliness. It was the epitome of the phrase "Beauty is only skin deep".

As I looked at the machine it felt as though the middle type bar was raised that little more than the others intentionally. Surely this machine wasn't giving me 'the finger'? Typewriters don't flip the bird...

But can I tell you folks... The machine damn well was giving me the same big 'f**k you' as I suspect it had given the previous ambitious repairers before me.

The day after I got back from Canberra I extracted the machine from its case. The case had been a huge problem the day before, and had taken Robert roughly quarter of an hour to find a case that would hold the machine. Even then, it refused to be locked into the case properly, and I had stuffed bubble wrap around it to give a level of protection. Unfortunately I had to shift a lot of that bubble wrap at the airport  so that the security team could 'bomb check' it.

It put up a bit of a fight at the airport, and had almost tumbled onto the floor. The same thing happened at home the next day. Eventually I managed to get it out of the case, and I plopped it onto the top of cupboard nearest my desk.

I inspected it for a while and started to take a note of some of the faults. As I did the escapement seemed to loosen up somehow and the machine launched its carriage into my face, almost hitting my eye. Surprised by this, I recoiled away from the machine. The carriage slipped a tiny notch along its escapement by itself before once again engaging and sitting silently.

I felt like Rocky. This was going to be a tough repair, but if I played eye of the tiger often enough and ran up and down the stairs a few times (my tools were in the shed down stairs) eventually this movie would end in my triumph. I'd raise my hands in victory and call out through my numb but joyous face "ADRIAN! ADRIAN!"

I pushed the carriage back to the middle again, and felt the escapement travel with the machine perfectly. I let go of it, and less than a second later the carriage launched itself left again, but only a few stops.

"You little prick" I muttered quietly, before continuing: "So this is how you're going to play, huh"? 

I grabbed the machine and flipped it onto it's tail to inspect the underside of the machine. I couldn't see any misalignment, nor could I find any broken springs, levers or teeth. I rotated the machine back over onto the steel bolts that it is currently using as feet, and scratched my head a little. 

I turned the machine around and looked down the rails from the right hand side (spring loaded part away from my eye) and carefully released the escapement and slid the carriage. Again, I could not observe any major fault, even when I tapped on the space-bar and keys. 

Again I looked at the machine from the front of the keyboard, and started to thank about how I could dismantle it to have a better look. I tapped the space bar and keys roughly and..... 

"CRUNCH". 

The carriage raced across to the left and slammed against the right margin. A small black piece of something shot out the side of the machine and skidded across the surface of the cupboard. 

It was clear what this was. My opponent had now moved beyond the trash talk - the "F**k you" finger raising, and after copping a few whacks - had just spat out a loose tooth at me. It was ready for a fight. 

The sound that it made as the part skipped across the table told me instantly that his wasn't rubber or plastic. It was metal... cold and hard metal. Crucial part kind of metal.

Yes. You know what this is, don't you. I bet you do.

I kept a calm face. I was not going to show any fear to this machine. But on the inside I was saying "F**K F*K F**K F**K F**K F**K F**K F**K F**K F**K F**K F**K F**KETY F**K, YOU F**KING F**K-F**K".

I knew what this piece was. It was a tooth off the escapement wheel which was located deep in the middle of the machine. This part is as difficult to get to, as it is to find a replacement for.

There was a moment of silence between me and the machine. Till I leaned over and spoke quietly to it. 

"I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for typewriters like you. If you play good now, that'll be the end of it. I will not dismantle you, I will not transplant you. But if you don't, I will find you, and I will kill you"

I slid the carriage back to the centre, but the escapement almost immediately slipped a little... Just a little... 

And with that  I reached my hands in (with the aid of a screwdriver or two) and tore out the machine's still beating heart - the platen. Screws and knobs lay strewn across my table, and I held the platen in my fist above the typewriter to show it what I had done. It sat there with its mouth wide open - almost in shock.

I grabbed the filthy and cracked platen from another Royal I was working on and drove it into place of the original platen. I screwed it all back together again before looking at the machine and saying with malevolence; "There you are - the ugliness on the outside now reflects the madness that you have on the inside. You shall wear that scar to remind you - every day - that you have crossed the wrong repairer".

And with that, I shoved the chrome Royal back into its case, and locked it into the cupboard. 

I had promised Rob that I would repair this machine. And repair it I shall. But I know the battle has only just begun, and this war of egos will eventually come to a head because this town isn't big enough for the two of us. 

The first battle was a draw, but the war has begun. 

P.S. Has anyone got a trashed Royal portable or some kind? 

WebRep

currentVote

noRating

noWeight

The Bijou, the Royal and the Messenger....

It's no secret that I met one of my Typosphere heroes earlier this week. And although I travelled down to Canberra with the specific intention of visiting Robert's exhibition, I feel I should blog about the man that was at the core of the exhibition first.

I've met many passionate men in my life, and they have always inspired me. Robert is certainly one such man. Through groups on the internet, I have met with over 300 people. I've met many interesting and unique characters over the years, and while many of them are forgettable, Rob certainly isn't.

But as always, let me tell you a tale.

I settled down to the 'Blicked' IBM selectric at Robert's exhibition when it dawned on me - that I could give this visit a little bit of online life. Why not use this unique machine to write a typecast? Why not make this typecast instant - like a live typecasting on Facebook. I started to tap at the keys and surprised myself by how quickly I could manage to find my way around this modified keyboard. Within a minute I was lifting my eyes from the keyboard and touch typing on a truly foreign setup.

I had arrived at the exhibition not having been able to reach Robert via facebook or his blog to organise to meet up, but I wasn't too despondent about this, and I had accepted by this stage that I may not get to meet him on this occasion - so I decided that while I was at the keyboard I would tap out a letter to Rob, and hope he would be surprised to find it sitting on the table if he swung by.

A moment after I had wrote it, I pasted it up on Facebook, and tagged Robert in one of the photos.

I shifted seats to another machine, an Olivetti 32, and decided to write to the typosphere. In moments I had a posting ready to go - and subsequently uploaded it live onto Facebook. I returned to the IBM and settled into mastering its keyboard.

Note the keyboard. Yes... Notice it? 

There was a creek of a door opening behind me. I spun around to find an attractive, well dressed lady slipping through it with an anxious smile. She looked me in the eye as I peeked at her over my shoulder, and after a moment passed, asked me "Are you, um. Scott Kernaghan"?

This was rather unexpected. I knew right away what had happened - Rob had seen my posting on the Antique Typewriter group, and called her up. "Yes" I answered.
"Rob saw your post on Facebook and has asked if you could hang about for a bit. He'd really like to meet you".

I could barely get any words out. "R...Really" I stammered, rather surprised but excited about this turn of events.
"Yes! And he says he has something for you".

The lady scrolled through her iPhone's contacts looking for Rob's number, but had to return upstairs to call Rob back - as she didn't have his number in her phone. Before long, Rob was strutting through the doors of the exhibit, with a case in his hand. There were other people in the room, and I think Rob thought that the gentleman that was now at the IBM's keyboard was me. It wasn't and he seemed very surprised when I called across the room with an excited smile 'Robert'!

Rob and I talked, and before long he had me tapping away on the Bijou that he'd brought me. I was so excited... the machine was amazing, and I was so grateful that he'd given this to me. A few photos were taken, and Robert made a comment about my typing that actually took me by surprise. "Well, you can touch type"! It turns out Robert doesn't, which had me momentarily stunned. Stunned because he was a collector of typewriters, not because he was a Journalist. Almost all of the Journalists I have ever met have been two-finger typists - I think it comes with the territory.

I told Robert that I've been using Typewriters since I was 5. I had seen a fleet of them coming through our house as my Grandfather used to be a call-out typewriter mechanic for Adler - which repaired every brand of typer.

*   *   *

Rob and I took off to a near-by cafe to have lunch. We talked typewriters, phones, family, journalism and.... well... I checked out the Canberra fashion. It wasn't bad. Rob was charming and knowledgable. I loved sharing my limited stories with him, and learned a lot from Rob as he talked about some of the other people he's met along the way with his typewriters. 

Rob suggested that I could come over to his place and have a look at some of his collection. I eagerly jumped at the chance, as I had been hoping to have an opportunity to have a look at some of the other machines that Rob had featured online. Robert had been transferring his collection from his paid storage sheds to his home, and he explained that he felt a little awkward about letting me have a look while the collection was in such disarray. He shouldn't have worried. I loved it. 

We returned to Robert's car - a Mitsubishi wagon that was filled with machines he was transferring, along with machines he'd used to demonstrate typewriters at a primary school earlier that day. Robert re-arranged some machines to give me some space to sit, and while doing so grabbed a 2012 Scattori (not sure if that is the correct spelling) and placed it on the roof of his car for me to try. 

I had expected the Royal to be rubbish - but I was surprised by how nicely it typed. I tapped out a couple of lines, and found it a very competent machine - with the exception of the cheap plastic keys that I doubt will go the distance. For a typewriter less than a year old though, I was pretty surprised.

Again Robert was surprised to see me touch typing - this time on a machine on the roof of his car, with the keyboard sitting at about chin height. I wasn't showing off.... I swear! 

*   *   *

Robert's 1000+ strong collection left me speechless. If there was ever and Aladdin's cave of the typosphere, this was it. One of the machines I wanted so desperately to see - was Robert's red Royal QDL. I had never seen one in person, and was really hoping to lay my eyes on it. But soon I didn't care. I eventually did see it, but I only looked at it briefly, as there were so many other AMAZING machines grabbing my attention. There was so much I had never seen before.

Rob took me through a few of his typewriters in his lounge. But I just was lost for words. So many cool things to see - so little time. 

Outside of his garage again, Robert grabbed a Blick out of his car, and placed it on wheelie bin. While Robert shuffled about looking for something, I gave the Blick a good go. And I have to say.... I think I want one. It extraordinarily well made and responsive. I felt confident about writing with it, and I started to see why Robert loved it so much. It was an amazing machine. 

How cool is this thing! I mean.... How cool is this thing!!!!!

Robert kept insisting that if I see a machine I like, I should take it. I saw a lot of machines I liked, but I didn't feel filling the plane was a good idea. And besides - I had too many machines as it was. I explained this to Robert, and when I told him how many he just laughed. It did seem pretty ridiculous, saying that I had too many while we were standing in an ocean of typewriters. 

But then I set my eyes on a beautiful Chrome Royal portable. Yes.... Shiny things attract me - I'm shallow like that. 'WOW'! I exclaimed, and moments later Robert had it sitting on top of another wheelie bin, while he demonstrated some of the problems that the machine had. 

A Robertus Messengerius in its natural habitat - the improvised typewriter bench. 

Rob knows his stuff. He really does. And it was absolutely awesome to meet him, and I really hope that I can chat to him again soon, if not visit again. I felt awkward about taking two of his typewriters - even if the Chrome Royal is in such a poor state of operation, and he gave it to me with the promise if getting it working. But Robert seemed more than happy to hand these machines over to me, and I was too excited by them to say no. But I knew that two would be my limit for the plane. 

On the way to the plane. 

Getting the machines on the plane is another, rather entertaining story, and worth the effort as  I now have both machines sitting at my feet, at the foot of the 1920's dining room table that I use as a desk. 

Meeting Rob made the whole trip worth while. Not for the free typewriters, that I am sure that one day I will repay him somehow for these - but because it was really worth the time meeting him, along with seeing his exhibit. He's a gentleman, and a walking - talking encyclopaedia of typewriters. And and an amazing and passionate collector. I only realised afterwards that Rob's blog barely touches on the passion Rob has for these machines, which in their own unique way - have made Robert a collector of fine works of art. 

And I know he appreciates every piece of art he owns.