Round 2 (of 3) - Scott v's the Royal P

Round 2 - Scott v's the Royal P. The Royal strikes back. 

For those that missed round 1, it can be found - here.

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.

The relative peace from my earlier days was now broken, and the fighting had become heavy and brutal. The battle of wills between the chrome Royal P and myself was now becoming intense. Tools and parts lay strewn across the battlefield. Blood and been shed numerous times from my fingers, and my battle-cry had become a single word that started with an 'F'.

I tried to asses if the escapement on the royal was repairable, but the Royal P clutched it firmly in its heart and I couldn't pry the thing from the grip of the rapidly deteriorating screws. It seemed hopeless.

I attempted to ease off the pressure on the draw band one afternoon, in the hope that it would allow the escapement to catch. But my attempt to do so ended in the bloodiest battle of this war. As I released the spring, the coil inside the drum erupted and shattered inside. I heard the spring implode with gusto, and then sound like a baby's rattle as the pieces flung about internally. The initial crackling sound it made as it gave out was as surprising as much as it was sickening.

It was like I had been punched in the chest. I sat back and caught my breath, before letting out a long and pained battle cry - that also happened to start with an 'F'. 

I gripped the platen tight and raised it above my head, and hollered: "You can take my Main-spring. But you will never take my FREEEDOOOOOOM". 

And then I dropped the platen onto myself, and further worsened my dignity injury.

*SIGH*

So the decision was made to seek out a possible parts machine, or a machine for transplanting. I remember Robert Messenger talking about how Royal didn't make a lot of changes to their machines after the first Royal P, so I pulled out my old black Royal that I had restored back to working order some months before, and had a bit of a cursory look to see if there could possibly be a way of using parts from a later model. 

The Black Royal - repair in progress.

It was around this point that I observed that the frame on my Royal Arro, and the frame on my chrome Royal P were pretty much identical in their structure. I looked at the anchor points below the frame, around the ribbon covers, and leading out to the keyboard. Structurally it was very similar. Even the clearances on this segment shifted machine's carriage and basket appeared to be a good fit. 

I didn't want to destroy my black Royal, so I didn't pull it apart to see if I could do it. Instead, I powered up eBay and gumtree and had a good, hard look any kind of cheapish Royal portable typewriter of this era. 

28 days later......

I awoke one morning to see my iPhone screen blink with emails shooting along its face. Blue icons with blurry white text that I couldn't read flooded the black glass. I put my glasses on, and the white text came sharply into focus.

Ebay: You have won!

Ebay: Invoice for....
Ebay: Please pay for your item. 

Ebay: The seller has contacted you. 

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" I said as I rolled back over and went back to sleep. It was a Saturday. Saturdays are not typewriters on eBay days. Well, not Saturday morning at any rate.

The typewriter in question was an identical machine to my Black Royal - right down to the "Made in the British Empire" decal being stuck on the front at a haphazard angle. The machine was rusty and crusty, and looked like it was looking forward to retirement, but I was sure I could rejuvenate the mechanical side of it and get it going again. 

On Sunday, the seller was contacted. Addresses and phone-numbers were exchanged, and I organized a time and a date to get to the sellers house. I didn't want to collect late evening, so they gave me a 30 minute window of opportunity to collect the typewriter from 4pm on the Monday. I finished work at 3:30pm that day, so it was going to be a little tight getting to their place in time. 

Enter Roxanne:

I chose my speediest traffic-dodging vehicle for the task: Roxanne the motorbike. I always have Occy-straps at the ready on the bike, so it wasn't going to be a problem transporting the machine on the luggage rack. I had a blissfully chilled ride to work in the morning, and everything seemed to be going to plan. But by the afternoon I was anxiously looking at the BOM site radar, as I could see something that looked like a storm coming across 'the range', near Toowoomba. 

Expecting the worst, I shuffled through the cupboards at work for a plastic bag that would be big enough to cover the typewriter. Much to my dismay the biggest I had, that didn't have holes in it or would dissolve in water was a big yellow clinical waste bag that had several huge bio-hazard symbols on it. Not to worry... It was only there as a 'just in case'. I was pretty sure I had plenty of time before the storm hit.

I stuffed my earbuds into my ears, put my helmet on, and Ilet Karen - the voice on my TOMTOM app, direct me to the address. Unfortunately some of the roads leading to the seller's house were still being reconstructed after the 2011 floods, and as such I had to sort of find my own detour. Time was starting to look very tight, but eventually I got there.

I was given several tips by the seller about how to use a typewriter (Really? You turn the knob which turns the big rubber roller to put paper in? Who knew! The lever is the return key? Fancy that!) before long money was exchanged, and the sale was done. I had mere minutes left of the allotted time, and I was pretty happy to have got the transaction done. Meanwhile, what apperred to be an army of children had surrounded me to check out this typewriter.

I strapped the Royal onto the back of my bike... Took a photo for blogging purposes, and then took off, with Karen again in my ears - telling me how to get home. 

Rev it up, Rev it up, little boy and ride.... Or write. Your choice.

 I sped and weaved through traffic with the greatest of ease. Over my left shoulder I could see the storm clouds closing in, but I sighed with relief as soon as I when back on a familiar road, and ever so close to home. There was a traffic jam at some roadworks, but no matter... I just darted around them. I was stopped at a set of lights, looking down the length of a very busy main road - unaware that tragedy was about to strike. 

As always, it is something small and unexpected that starts the tragedy. In this case, it was an itch on my neck. As I took off from the lights, I accelerated hard ahead of the traffic. I felt my engine sputter a little, but it still accelerated just fine - until I took my hand off the accelerator to scratch that itch. 

The engine just simply shut down, dead. Deader than a dead parrot. Deader than the main-spring on my Royal P. Deader than the sales of the HIghlander 2 DVD. (gosh, that really was a sh*t movie). 

I coasted to the side of the road, put the kickstand down and told myself 'don't panic'. Just then a Vogon starship..... oh wait..... 

I tried to start it again a few times, let the engine dry out from being flooded and then tried to start it again. No good. I popped off the seat, checked the fuses and found they were fine. I wiggled them a bit, tried to start the engine, and still didn't get any life.

So, I popped out the tools from the little caddy on the side of the bike, and pulled out the spark plugs to see if I was getting any spark. No spark... nothing. I checked the spark  making box thingy (how's that for a technical term) and all connections were fine. I resolved that the magic little black box itself must be shot. 

A guy on a Triumph Boneville, suavely parked his bike next to mine. Small drops of rain started to gently patter down around to us, and he asked me if he could help. He was a member of the 59 club, and was on his way to a meet. We both stood there looking at my motorbike, talking dirty finger-nails and trying to look as manly as possible without scratching our balls. 

"I don't actually know anything about the mechanics of a motorbike. I hope you know what you're doing" he eventually said. "But I can offer you a lift". I politely declined, he gave me a card for the club and suggested that I should look them up "when you get it (Roxanne) working again", and then took off into the slightly spitting weather. 

My bike was going to need to be towed. I didn't have the number for the tow guy in my phone, so I called up Ms Jane - who just happened to also be riding today, and had used the guys towing services a couple of times in the past. "You'll need cash", she reminded me on the phone. "About $100. He only takes cash. I'll message his number to you. Are you near an ATM"? Jane was always aware that I never carried much cash, and usually used EFTPOS for most transactions. 

The spitting rain started to turn into random fat drops of rain, and I could see that I was mere minutes away from a tropical down-pour. I reached into my bag and pulled out the big yellow Clinical Waste bag, and dropped the typewriter into it for protection from the elements, before strapping it back onto my bike. As I did so, I noticed the heavy traffic on the road near me started to slow even further. It seems that a big yellow bio-hazard symbol with bold lettering saying "Clinical waste" under it, is a bit of a head-turner. "Oh well" I thought, "at least no one was going to steal it".

I began to walk towards the Warner shopping center, which was about 1.5km back up the road. I HATE the Warner shopping center, but there was no avoiding it. You will never find a more wrenched hive of scum and villany. But I needed folding money. Just as I started to walk, the sky opened up with the fury of as much rain as it could possibly drop, and I was soaked to my toes within minutes. 

It took me 45 minutes to walk to the Warner shopping center and back, all the while I walked along a muddy roadside strip (because no one uses footpaths in Warner, as no one walks) and I was as miserable as I could possibly be. People - stunned at seeing someone 'walking' were yelling abuse at me from their cars. The traffic had slowed right down now (mostly because of the roadworks, partly because of my bio-hazard typewriter), and had a prolonged period of having to cop sh*t from lengthy row of Warner bogans in rust-bucket racers with big stereos, big exhausts, and a big complex about their small penises.

Somewhere... there was an in-bred kid playing a banjo. Or, knowing Warner, a plastic guitar and guitar hero.

I got the cash, walked back, and was surprised to not have received the number from Jane on my phone yet. So I called her.

"Where are you"? she asked.
"I'm about a K or so past Warner Tavern".

"Ohhhh" I could hear a whince in her voice "Funny the message didn't go through. I'll be there soon. Could you have picked a better spot?".
I could hear traffic noises around her, and I could tell that she was talking on her head-set while she was on her motorbike.

The rain started to ease a little as I waited, and then just stopped. Jane, on her big and shiny Yamaha V-Star pulled up next to me - virtually dry, and briefly looked at the Clinical waste bag with a confused look, before asking me what had happened.

"Show me it starting again" She said. So I did. I had put the bike back together, so I just sat on it, put the key in and gave it an attempted rev. Jane twiddled the accelerator for a bit, and then looked at the kill switch to the left of it.

"When did you turn this off" she asked while pointing to the switch. I looked, and saw that the switch was indeed to the 'off' position - which typically kills the engine dead.
"Eeeerm... I didn't switch that off" I replied. I turned the switch to on, gave the engine a bit of a squirt, and the bike again roared back to life. When I had lifted my hand to scratch that itch earlier, I must have accidentally knocked the switch. 

I again let out my Battle-cry starting an 'f', while Jane looked at me with a little bit of frustration. I on the other hand felt like an utter dickhead. We rode home, and I could see Jane shaking her head from time to time as I looked at her in the mirrors. 

I got home and sat the Royal out on the back deck of the house to inspect it. 

The machine had seen much better days. A fair bit of the chrome had flaked off, and parts of the typewriter were pretty dirt filled. But it wasn't horribly rusty, and the machine actually worked really well. This would have to be my first ever Royal portable that arrived in fully operating condition. 

A few days later I pulled the shell off the machine, and attempted to put the shell from the chrome Royal onto it. As I had estimated, the frame was almost a perfect fit - except of course for one very crucial difference. As I wrapped the shell around the frame, it seemed to end about 5mm to short. As it turns out, Royal were still using the same identical frame as the Royal P, but had welded an extra piece of metal onto the back of the typewriter, to give the shell at the rear a little more clearance - in order to keep it looking flush with the shell that was bolted onto the carriage. 

I was so... very, very close! I could just cut the metal off. The frame structure for the Royal P was still there, located behind a tack-welded piece of sheet-metal!. All I had to do was grind off the extra pieces, drill 4 holes and tap them, and I could have my chrome Royal working! With nicer, smoother black keys!

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't just 'chop' up a machine that still had plenty to offer. I knew I could use parts from both the original machine, and the newer one, and get a pretty awesome typewriter out of it. But I couldn't just kill off a great working Royal.

And it IS a great Royal. I bolted the shell back on, cleaned and serviced it and scrubbed up the metal a little while getting rid of the dirty bits and the corrosion. I now have two identical Royal typewriters, and I have no idea what to do with either of them. Does anyone want a Royal? No, seriously.

The chrome Royal was going to have to wait. I packed it up into a box, and dropped it down with a few other project machines. 

But it wasn't a long wait. About a month later I eyed off a Royal P on ebay with a shell in shockingly bad condition. If there ever was a machine that was born to be a donor. It was this one. I tapped in a figure into and hit enter and waited for the auction to finish.... Hoping no one else would bid.

But that's another story. 

Coming up in Round 3 - Scott v's the Royal P:

I fight with eBay buyers and sellers. 

Then do some rather painful work getting my chrome Royal back together.

And I add a special tool to my typewriter repair kit.

... and then the rains came.

My suburb awash at about 11am....

Brisbane was lashed by a series of.... rather expected storms, yesterday afternoon. I say rather expected, because the forecast for the entire week had been for severe storms on Saturday. However, many of the locals have since vented their collective and self-righteous spleens because the B.O.M. hadn't sent them SMS storm warnings for the first severe session in the afternoon.

They most certainly issued warnings for the latter - and much more prolonged storm.

As the second storm approached, I set up my camera on the front deck to take a series of long exposures - in the hope of capturing some lightening. It missed a couple of dramatic moments unfortunately, but it did document the advancing of the storm quite effectively.

Take that... Lighting pole at the Rugby field!

A little after 9pm however, the strongest part of the storm hit. This forced me to quickly rush outside and grab my camera gear. As I retreated inside and quickly shut the windows to stop the now horizontal rain from coming in, the power died. Having anticipated this happening, there were already candles burning throughout the house. I also had been charging my mobile phone to make sure I still had contact with the rest of the world in the eventuality of the power failure.

So, what does one do when the power goes down?

You typecast of course!

 

The suburb dived into an eerie silence and darkness as the power went out. But the sky kept the world alight at night with lightening strikes.

 

Blog entry sitting on my typewriter - waiting to be scanned when the power came back on.

And then it was over....

Actually, not quite.

By the next morning I was awoken by the rumble of thunder once again rolling across the landscape. 

And then the third storm hit....

Not long after the storm subsided, another SMS warning arrived from the BOM warning us of the same kind of conditions that had been predicted the night before. By about mid-day the 4th (or was it 5th?) storm crashed over the city, once again turning streets to rivers.

 EDIT:

It is now 5:30pm, and from my front deck I can see another front coming up from the south of Brisbane. The BOM has issued another severe weather SMS warning.


EDIT 2:

Photos and thoughts.... n' stuff.

About 5pm today. 

It's been a bit of a miserable Brisbane day, today. People around here are scratching their heads - in wonder as to what nature may be thinking - if not concerned about what nature may do next. Usually in winter we have a blast of cold conditions that are very dry, where we complain a lot about it before we learn to just deal with it. This usually lasts for about 6 weeks.

I personally enjoy those 6 weeks. I get to dress in heavy coats, use scarves and do almost anything without working up a sweat. I still have some awesome clothing from my Melbourne wardrobe that makes me look dashingly smashing in this kind of weather. For the rest of the year I just look like a melting slob.

But it isn't dry right now. Rather, quite far from it. It has rained on and off for around about 5 days. We have had broken periods of sun, followed by just generally overcast conditions with a rolling series of isolated showers. My motorcycle is gathering dust, and my umbrellas have been getting a bit of a workout.

 I'm on a strategic break from work. What this is - is hard to explain, but it essentially means I have taken some of my annual leave allocation in the middle of a period of transition, in order to highlight the skills deficiencies within certain area of a department. I'm doing this for two reasons - firstly because of the politics involved with working in government, and secondly to preserve my own sanity.

I don't like doing this kind of thing. I really wish workplaces could work more harmoniously, with people within their areas of responsibility being considerate of the needs of others.  But it has become necessary to take leave, for a series of reasons which I legally can't discuss in an open forum.

The situation when I get back isn't going to be great either way, as my contract has been dropped to a lower level, and only signed for three months. This isn't related to my performance in my job, but rather just an unfortunate result of government workplace regulation, and of just generally badly managed circumstances.

*   *   *

I've been making plans to head down to Canberra and check out Robert Messenger's exhibition during this break. However as the days progress and money seems to be getting burned through, the money I need to pay for accommodation has been dipped into (and no, the typewriter I just bought from overseas had already been budgeted for - for those who know about that) and I'm not confident that I'm going to be able to do a drive down there - or fly for that matter. It's about 1400km to Canberra (14 hours on the road straight) and if I drove there, and a fair bit longer if I took the route that I really wanted to take, and make something of a road-trip of it. 

I need to get out of Brisbane for a bit, and I've been thinking about my options. I might be able to do Rob's exhibit a little bit later, and I would love to actually catch up with him while I'm there. So it may have to wait. 

I've been nice sitting on the deck just outside and thinking. And while I've been feeling a bit down today, I've sat out on the deck and tapped out a few letters to cheer myself up.

Ahhh the front deck.... 

But it has gotten cooler again tonight, so I've retreated indoors and bloated myself up with a nice  meal of chinese. I do love a good chicken and cashew dish. I've been playing with my camera a bit this afternoon during these rainy conditions, so as such I thought I'd upload a few of the photos on here for all of you to see. So hopefully your broadband connection is conducive to downloading these photos. 

Of course, one of my favourite typers has featured here. My SC Sterling. 

These are a few of my favourite things.... 

My Nissan gets a big service on Thursday, so I'll have a good idea after that as to what kind of trip away from the city I can take. If I get down to Canberra, that'll be great. Otherwise, I think I'll be heading inland to spend some time in a bit of the outback. Naturally my camera and typewriter will be in tow. 

Let's see where the wind takes me. 

Typecasting from Paradise City. The other one.

You may want to click these to enlarge them. Just a suggestion, nothing meant by it. 

Oh, and there's probably a few errors. Proof reading is for wimps. Or people with actual writing careers. 

*Correction 'still waking up in the darkness, to asleep to have a conversation. 

But you probably got that anyway.