Sound and video in church

 I am very close to having a complete video recording setup in our church in Gran Canaria. 

Why has it taken so long?

I started recording services in November 2025 in sound only using my phone close to the lectern. But sound from the altar was too far away to pick up. I tried putting a second phone on the altar to record the sound there, but the job of synchronsing the two in my editor was a nightmare. 

Firstly I was using Adobre Premier Elements on my main computer but I couldn't load it onto my laptop due to the fact that Adobe wants subscriptions these days -too expensive. So, I looked around and now I use Pinnacle Studio Ultimate which I bought for €95 and I shared the cost with the church.

Since the church gave me approval for my quotation, I have bought various items such as cameras and a video mixer. The latter was a disaster! It had a noisy fan so I sen it back. Fortunately most of what I have bought is from Amazon and they have a very generous returns policy. Unfortunately, being in Gran Canaria means that there is a huge delay in receiving shipments from the Peninsula. I can use OBS Studio as a vision mixer, so I saved the church €280!

Since Novemeber 2025, I have been recording services, sometimes in video (imperfectly), sometimes in sound. And they are all available on the website.

So, despite my experience in sound (most of which dates back to a different epoch) I have been re-learning what one can do these days.

Another dilema was from where to shoot the video and operate the equipment without distracting people. On the right there is power,  but two friends also occupy the pew. On the left is no power, so I am having to make everything battery-operated. And the left-hand pew is always empty. Waiting for me!

Another dilema was whether to make it part of the church sound reinforcement system. After all, there are microphones in the two vital locations: the lectern and the mobile altar. I decided, no. The requirements of each system are different.

I am nearly there! This week, I received a cute little audio mixer and two more C2 microphones. The setup will be:

My laptop running OBS Studio (which is a free app to enable streaming or recording a service.)

Three cameras, UBS connected to OBS Studio. One, with a screen, for the lectern but pannable by me if required. Two fixed cameras (very small - no screen), one for the altar and one in the pulpit for an overall view. I plan to have a pair of C2 microphones in the pulpit to give a nice stereo ambient sound. 

The Behringer audio mixer with UBS digital output which feeds into OBS Studio. 

 

 I will record the services "as live", so there will be no need for editing afterwards. And, if I want to stream services - that is easy too with OBS Studio.

Because there is no power on the left-hand pew, I have ordered an 18v battery for the mixer from Worten, which should arrive this week.

So... don't hold your breath, but we are nearly there!

 

 

 

An Essay about Organs

 Since my early teens in the 1950s, I have been fascinated by organs, and naturally, by organ music.

In those days, most organs were either pneumatically operated or were simply mechanically connected with rods and cables between the keyboard and the ranks of pipes. I loved studying the wind chests, how the pallets were withdrawn to let the air into the pipes.

In days gone by, the air supply was replenished by choirboys (or so I liked to imagine), operating the bellows which sustained the air supply.

This early passion didn’t really lead anywhere, I didn’t learn to play a keyboard, much to my regret.

The first organ that really stimulated my interest was the organ in the Royal Festival Hall in London. The hall was opened in 1951 and linked to the Festival of Britain on the South Bank of the River Thames. I would be taken to concerts there (I would have been 10 or 11 by the time the organ was completed) and I was captivated by the beautiful pipes, some in wood, some in metal, normally on show and skilfully lit even when not in play. To see them was to see a work of art. Unfortunately, the sound is a far cry from the beautiful reverberant sound of a cathedral – the RFH had a notoriously dead acoustic. Simon Rattle once said that it sapped the will to live! When I worked in the BBC, speakers had been installed in the ceiling in an attempt to liven up the sound. As I worked up there adjusting microphones, one could hear them twittering away!

As an aside, I used to love the sound of the Hammond organ in the 1960s, when I would have been about 20, and starting my career with the BBC. This produced its sound by tone wheels, in other words, by an electromechanical method. It started out as a church organ in the USA but was quickly adopted by jazz and rock groups. Keith Emmerson played (and attempted to destroy!) an organ at a famous concert in the Fairfield Halls in Croydon in 1969. The Five Bridges Suite. The Hammond organ was usually paired with the Leslie speaker which produced a mesmerising sound on account of the loudspeakers actually rotating inside the cabinet. The company exists to this day but I doubt they use tone wheels now.

Another interesting diversion was the mellotron - a precursor to the Allen organ in a way because it used sound samples on magnetic tape which were drawn over the tape heads as a key was pressed. I remember well a version we had at Thames TV which had sound effects on the tape strips rather than organ notes. One could create footsteps with two alternate keys. Each time a key was released, the tape would spring back to its start position with a loud plop! Haha, digital is sooo boring!

There were synthesisers of course, which produced the sound entirely electronically and my keyboard hero Keith Emmerson had a huge Moog synthesiser which was carted around to various gigs. (My other keyboard hero is Tony Banks).

During the 60s as I worked in sound in television, my interest in pipe organs was revived. Partly due to being taught about acoustics and musical instruments in general, but also through my love of music.

In my church in Weybridge in the UK, we had a magnificent pipe organ but it required a huge amount of maintenance. I remember climbing around the pipes and wind chests in the loft in the hope of keeping it going. The organist at the time, Stephen Hicks, was a fan of “tracker” organs – mechanically linked – and when the time came to replace our wonderful pipe organ, it was replaced by a rather ordinary Collins tracker organ which clanked as different stops were selected. I was sad. I imagined a time when that would be obsolete and sound would be provided by loudspeakers. In 2026, partly true.

I love organ music, especially by the French organ composers such as Widor and Vierne. And of course, by Bach. Organs in the continent have a different sound quality to the “English” organ sound. I visited churches in Paris to study the organs, their history. I learnt about Aristide Cavaillé-Coll, the great French organ designer. Many years later, when I was exhibiting my pro-audio products at the AES show in Paris, I attended an organ recital by Graham Blyth, the co-founder of Soundcraft (he used to give these recitals as a regular feature as he was also a skilled musician). Sadly, he died two years ago at only 76 years of age. As you may know, the organ is normally at the back of French churches – at the west end – and so, as the recital progressed, little by little, the audience (mostly sound professionals) turned their chairs around to face the back!

I was horrified as were most people by the fire in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, but somewhat relieved to hear that the organ was not destroyed. Now it makes its sound again. A different sound, because it has been cleaned but of course, the cathedral serves as part of the instrument. And that has changed. The original design was by Cavaillé-Coll. I’m sure many of the original pipes are still in play although the action has changed.

I read an interesting discussion about the new choir organ which used to sit in the triforium (the gallery high above the nave) which resonated with me. There was a suggestion to put it up above the triforium where it would be better seen, but it ended up beneath the triforium as before because it would be better heard. “Bravo!” says this sound engineer!

Modern organs, apart from tracker organs, now tend to use electrical action, with the console often remote from the pipe ranks. And it’s partly thanks to another pro-audio company, Solid State Logic, that this technique was developed. Although known for its huge mixing desks and its early development of digital audio, SSL had a side-line in the design of serial data between the organ console and the pipes. Obviously, if this was done in a parallel fashion, one would be faced with an enormous bundle of cables, one for each pipe! There was a similar case in what I was doing in building management systems in the 70s, sending lots of data serially down a cable, rather than using parallel data by multiple cables.

They came headhunting for me in the 80s but soon discovered that I wasn’t really the right stuff and things went quiet very rapidly. One of the founders of SSL, Colin Sanders, sadly died in a helicopter accident in 1998. These icons of the pro-audio world were my heroes. I had a lot of success with my audio products for a while but I never came close to these titans, whose legacy continues to this day.

My favourite organ at the moment is in Gloucester Cathedral. It is soon to be given life again after several years of silence. I always remember attending a workshop and listening to the organ close up. Of course, one doesn’t hear the natural reverberation of the building, and it sounded rather like a fairground organ, one could hear it panting and breathing. 

The photo shows it from the choir side, so you can see the little choir organ too. 

For the past few years, it has had an Allen organ as understudy (as was the case with the organ in St George’s Chapel, Windsor when it was being renovated). Maybe some people don’t hear the difference. After all, the Allen organ uses pipe organ samples, but the real thing will not be made obsolete any time soon. A pipe organ is so much more than making beautiful music. Many tell of a history, sometimes in centuries. You can’t replace that with a loudspeaker, however hi the fi!

This spring, Gloucester Cathedral is celebrating the instalation of the new organ, not only because this year it is hosting the Three Choirs Festival, but it has also organised a special festival.

Tracker organs are going to be around for a long time. Obviously, small chamber organs are mechanically linked but I was fascinated to see the organ in the Auditorio Nacional in Madrid partly, at least, has a mechanical action. It was built by Gerhard Grenzing. It gives an organist far more control over the expression of the sound. Otherwise, it is just on or off!

His factory is in El Papiol, to the south of Barcelona and I once visited an exhibition in the library given by the company.

Now, up to the present! I attend a church in Gran Canaria and we have an Allen AP2 organ (illustrated below). It has two manuals and two external loudspeakers which are installed high up in the chancel facing sideways. The organ was installed about 20 years ago and recently we paid quite a large sum of money to have a circuit board replaced. But, spread over 20 years, that’s not too bad. I tried valiantly to see if there was something simple that could be cured with a soldering iron, but it refused to obey and we had to call out an engineer from the UK. Shame! I would have been a hero if I could have fixed it. Allen Organs in the UK didn't advise on where the external speakers were placed when the organ was installed. They are designed to give a "stereo" effect, each has a different sound channel, so their current position is not ideal. I think that the larger organs in the range have more channels.

One fact that Allen Organs appreciates of course, but not everyone else does, is that the character of a pipe comes not so much from the sinusoidal waveform that it produces from a consistent sound, but rather the initial sound as the air hits the pipe. Try that with a musical instrument. Chop off the start of the note, and some cannot de distiguishable from others. I was always amused as a sound engineer as to how similar the sound of rainfall is to applause. But that is to digress! If you start me off, this will run to another post!

 

 

 

Logic Park Chapter 1

I have wonderful ideas for my new book! It is a mad scheme to build a leisure park in France. It is set 10 years in the future, whatever that may hold. Read on. If you like it, please leave a comment. If you don't like it, leave a comment!

 

A Grey November afternoon at 4pm in Carcassonne, for one particular Englishman was reminiscent of London because it was much the same but maybe a little warmer. At 4pm most people are hoping that the night will arrive rapidly, then at least it’s dark on account of there being no sun rather than its being obscured by a thick mantel of cloud with a spray of fine drizzle beneath it. It almost had a Dickensian feel about it, one almost expected to see a lamp-lighter wandering among the street-lights.

It was a Sunday which accounted for the absence of traffic. The road glistened. What traffic that did pass along Avenue General Leclerc, did so silently or with a strange symphony (or maybe a cacophony) of musical sounds on account of this being 2030 and the internal combustion engine being history in most major cities. Most people these days sampled their car sounds from the internet rather in the same way that people used to download ring-tones for their phones. For sure the air was cleaner but it didn’t lift the oppressive feeling of doom. The bare trees seemed to be weeping.

A dark electric-blue Brum i4 pulled up at the kerb. Or a dark blue electric Brum i4 pulled up at the kerb, take your choice. It also emanated a strange ethereal sound reducing in pitch as it came to a stop, but very dated, as if from a computer movie in the 1980s. Thomas Leadsom was in his 60s so it was either nostalgia or that he hadn’t yet mastered how to change it to something more modern. He took a few moments to check that he had the right location and then looked up the nearest available parking on his screen. Naturally, his car could make all the decisions for him but he still preferred to impose his wish to park off-road. He addressed his car in a firm and authoritative voice, “Park in Parking Gambetta, it’s back across the bridge”. The car replied with a cheery “OK” and a waving emoji on the screen.

When he first bought the car in 2022, he would never have dared send it off to some parking lot, but on account of his growing fame it had been updated free of charge by Brum with new sensors and, of course, the software had been updated on a regular basis. Then two years ago, his battery was replaced with one of the new Plasform power-packs (the word “battery” by that time had a very dated feel about it). With the new power-pack, he could charge the car almost as quickly as one used to take to refill a car with gasoline, and it had a range of 300km. But many people worried about these new power-packs. After all, they still contained the same energy as a tank full of gasoline, they were physically smaller than the old lithium batteries and rapid charging put great stress on the whole system.

He reached behind his seat for a small folder of papers and eased himself out of the car. He shut the door and immediately it moved off towards its parking space, humming in an ascending scale to itself as it went. He was casually dressed, jeans and a shirt with a thick sweater and a bomber jacket to keep out the damp cold air. The Prison, Maison d’Arrêt lay towards la Cité outside the centre of the town, Thomas thought how similar in appearance it was to Wormwood Scrubs which he knew well from visiting clients. Maybe the prison featured in movies and TV series as was the case with The Scrubs. As he approached the gates to the prison, he realised, of course that numerous cameras were now plotting his progress and analysing who he was. Thomas Alvarez Lendsom, 62, British, lawyer, married with two children, lives in Hampstead, London. In the UK, ID cards had finally been accepted so the trawling of information was even easier. People realised that they had given so much about themselves in social media and online that there was really very little more that they could give away. But the research on this visitor went further. From his profile in Silicon Valley, the prison was able to create a complete picture of the man. And because he had been in all the newspapers and TV outside the law courts, le Cour d’Assises, on Friday, the prison quickly came to the conclusion that he had come to visit his client. Or “ex-client” because they had parted acrimoniously as he was led down to start his sentence and as Thomas went out to attempt to explain to the press why his client had had a “James Ratner” moment, an act of hari-kari. Norman Prensel had destroyed his case in a few short moments giving the judges an early start to their weekend, for which they were thankful because the case had already dragged on for 15 days.

Thomas had hoped to visit his client, his ex-, without anyone knowing but some hope of that. There was a small group of people outside the jail wall, some he supposed were friends or family of inmates but one or two looked suspiciously like journalists. He walked up briskly to the police officer at the gate and explained who he was and the purpose of his visit, although that was hardly necessary. It was possible that the policeman knew more about him than he knew himself. Was his wife having an affair which he was spending so much time in France? It was the hour of normal visiting and he had already checked with Norman’s family to see if they planned on visiting him. The policeman at the entrance gave Thomas an ID on a lanyard, the photo it took from their own database, and a wristband. He gave up his mobile phone.

He was led to a small room by a prison warder where he found a motley bunch of sad looking people waiting to see their loved ones (or maybe their confederates to ask where they hid the money). Thomas took a seat next to a very large woman in a floral dress. He picked up a copy of Paris Match and there at page 4 was a report on the court case, the trial of Norman Prensel, world-famous entrepreneur and bon viveur, now brought low, not by the law which his lawyer was skillfully manipulating but by a seemingly rash statement at his trial. That was why Thomas was at the jail rather than heading for home, that would have to wait. But then he doubted what would happen. Their conversation would not be direct but via an electronic link and any sound or unusual actions would immediately be picked up by the artificial intelligence. His face, his emotions would be picked up by the software. In public, face recognition was still a controversial subject, more so as it became more sophisticated. But in a prison, anything goes!

He imagined Norman being brought from his cell to the meeting room. Maybe he wouldn’t want to see him and what could they talk about anyway. The weather? But, yes, Norman was happy to meet, after about 15 minutes, a warder called his name and took him down a dark corridor to the meeting room. As he opened the door, Thomas saw Norman but not as he was accustomed to seeing him. Of course, now, he was wearing a prison uniform but previously he was always impeccably dressed in a dark suit, tie and white shirt. He walked up to the screen where Norman was seated, he said “Hello” and Norman responded. Then followed a little small talk before Thomas put the big question, “Why did he do it?”. Not the crime itself but the virtual confession when Thomas had almost got him off the charges. This was the question on everyone’s lips. But he knew that Norman could not reply as it would have been picked up immediately and for sure leaked to the press. Norman looked back at him with a blank look on his face and a Gallic shrug of the shoulders. But then he smiled, this was not expected. And his smile cautiously drew Thomas’s eyes down to his hands which were clasped on the table in front of him. And then Thomas saw it. From the wrist up to the first knuckle of his right hand was a string of letters and numbers, about 12 in all. He reached in his wallet as if to consult his documents but drew out a sheet of paper and a pen and casually wrote down the string of letters. He had to write it down although he had no idea what it meant, maybe some kind of code that he could present to his clever mathematical friends in the UK. The vigilance in that room was so tight that he feared that at any moment his writing would be discovered. Norman looked back at him blankly and gave him one or two phone numbers which were obviously bogus just to camouflage the vital text. Then, out of the blue, Norman said, “My penis is tiny”. Just that. Well, Thomas had never had the opportunity to judge that, either flaccid or erect. Norman, he knew was gay but he was happily married so there was no question of anything happening between them. And then he said, “You are lawyer”. Not “You are a lawyer” which would make more sense and the former was not English in any case. But he was smart enough to realise that this was also a coded message. He didn’t even risk winking his eye, he just looked blankly back across the screen and continued to chat about the weather. And so they continued, just chatting but obviously Norman had passed something important to Thomas. The time came for him to leave, they said their goodbyes and as Thomas reached the door, he looked back to see Norman surreptitiously wiping the letters from his hand, making out that he was wringing his hands in sadness. And that was the last time either of them saw each other for a number of reasons. But one in particular.

Thomas retrieved his phone and escaped out into the street again, it was 5.30pm and he checked for messages. There were very many, most of which he ignored. There were several which noted that he had visited the prison and which were requesting an interview. And the crowd had certainly increased in number, and they were not all visiting friends and relatives, that was for sure. There were two large and powerful motorbikes at the kerb and several guys hanging around with expensive looking cameras. A microphone was thrust into his face, “What did he say?” He felt vulnerable without his car so he started walking briskly in the direction of the main boulevard where he had sent his car. The press pack followed and jostled him. “You had your day on Friday, leave me alone!” he cried. He called up his car and it responded, “I will pay with the disk on the windscreen”, it replied, “Don’t worry”. Somehow his own car had caught wind of the pressure he was under, he supposed it was the tone of his voice unless the car watches TV. Maybe it was, inanimate objects, all connected to the internet-of-everything have been getting uncomfortably smart. He cursed at the journalists and paparazzi in the most vulgar French he could think of and continued walking. When he reached the bridge which crossed the River Aude, he saw a familiar blue car approaching slowly as if looking out for someone. He flung the folder in behind the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut and gratefully drove away in the direction of the A61 autoroute which would take him to Toulouse. But he had not shaken off the two motorcyclists and he also became aware of a black Mercedes which he had seen parked by the prison, He had dismissed it as obviously not being press. He couldn’t make out the registration mark but it was neither French nor British, he thought he saw a blue and yellow stripe next to the number.

After just over 10 minutes, he arrived at the autoroute. Naturally the traffic was very “fluide” as the gantry signs told him, but he was still being harassed by the two motorcycles. And the Mercedes was still there as well. He tried changing lanes but apart from increasing speed which would obviously have attracted a ticket, this was the only thing he could do. This motley little convoy continued to Toulouse where the number became A62, this was his target for getting out of France and heading for home. The two motorcycles had given up, it was obvious that he was heading back to Calais so there was no point in chasing him any further. About 5 km out of Toulouse, he pulled off to recharge the power-pack and visit the toilet. As he got back into the car, he remembered the coded letters that Norman had given him. He took the paper out of the wallet and sat thinking. Tiny penis, tiny, tiny. What is the clue there? And, “you are lawyer”. He wrote the words on the paper, folded it and put it in his top pocket. He would have to work that out later or during the boring hours of travel ahead. He didn’t see the Mercedes slip out of the lay-by 50m behind him.

Very soon he was passing the airport, he was tired, but his spirits were lifting. He was happy to be going home. After about 10 km, when he was close to the maximum of 120 kph, something strange happened. There was a shock and a loud bang in the front of the car and suddenly he was upside down about 2 metres above the central reservation, at high speed. The car dropped rapidly to the ground onto its roof, spinning twice, into the fast lane of the opposing traffic and the collision with the camper-van was unavoidable. There was silence. All traffic stopped with the exception of a black Mercedes which slipped by unnoticed as it headed towards Calais. People jumped out of their cars and attempted to drag Thomas out of the car. He was obviously seriously hurt but, even in these electric day, people still feared a fire. They laid him on the road and within a few seconds, the power pack, punctured by the Armco exploded sending fire and a plume of smoke into the night. When the medics arrived, there was very little they could do. At first, they didn’t even put him in the ambulance, it was obvious that by now he was dead.

My life in 2022 (about money)

I was shocked when I realised that my last post here was over a year ago, in August 2021. So it is time to do a little catching up.

I really enjoy telling you about my life in Spain... in Catalunya and in Lanzarote. It has been one huge adventure, especially in Lanzarote with my battle over the first house that I wanted to buy.

In my last post, I described a Conciliation held at the Law Courts between me, Pablo the owner and the estate agent. But I never wrote about the result.

At the last moment, Pablo the owner paid the €2,500 to the estate agent and the meeting was therefore cancelled. I could have taken this as an admission of responsibility. I actually sent him a WhatsApp message to thank him for paying the money; it was a big relief for me. He replied that he had done me a favour! I mentioned the €7000 again but I knew in my heart that I would be saying goodbye to that. I really didn't want to pursue this any further - I had found a better flat to buy, so in the long term, I had gained. In a way, the €2,500 claim against me and Pablo caused me more sleepless nights than the €7000 which I could have switched off at any time. Which is exactly what I did. 

And that is the last I heard of the story. I don't even know if the neighbours who built on the roof were fined. It is a shame that they suffered but I am sure I would have been paying the estate agent too if I had not alerted the Town Hall.

Often I think about these events (with pleasure but with a kind of thrill). I took a big risk. And that was despite losing a huge sum of money (and my mental health for a while) over the house which I bought in Celrà. I put myself under pressure to buy a place here in Arrecife. And many parts of the city (and it had to be Arrecife) were out of the question, for example Argana Alta, which is a long way from the centre. The coronavirus pandemic was under way and I felt that I could not simply go back to Catalunya without buying a place; travelling was complicated. This was my only opportunity. I felt rather stranded! So I was in rather a "gung-ho" mood (dangerous) and decided on the first house despite the electricity and water not being fitted. I was lucky to escape. Maybe Pablo would not have been able to complete it by the time of signing the compraventa with the notario, so maybe I would have escaped anyway.

After the Conciliation, I returned to Girona but only for a short while. I spent most of last winter (2021-22) in Lanzarote and returned to Catalunya at the end of May.

I have to admit, I don't do very much when I'm in Lanzarote. I enjoy the sun, the beach, I go swimming. I take excursions to other parts of the island by bus (guagua it is called here). I have been to Tenerife twice, to Puerto de la Cruz. It is quick and cheap on Binter with their ATR-72 turboprops.

I got involved with the Anglican Church in Lanzarote and attended services there. But this year it all turned a little bit sour (which obviously I can't write about here). And I no longer attend church there.

At the start of 2021, I finally cut one important financial tie with the UK - I cashed a savings bond which I had held for many years going back to 1990. The company paid me free of tax because I no longer pay tax in the UK and I then expected to pay tax in Spain in May 2022. But there seemed to be confusion among my advisors whether this was a capital gain or considered as income. That latter would have cost me much more. I visited the tax office in Arrecife and the man there actually wrote "Renta Patrimonial" on my document meaning capital gain. In May, much to my pleasure, I completed my first tax return online in Spain. Previously it had been done by my accountant in Girona. At the end of June and on November 6th 2022, the Tax Office sucked the tax out of my bank account. I hope I did everything correctly. The amount of tax I paid was what I was expecting. Next May in 2023, things will be much simpler because I will just be paying tax on my pensions which don't change much from year to year. But the State Pension is due to rise by 10%, which is a lot. This is thanks to the controversial Triple-Lock in the UK and to the huge increase in the cost of living index (RPI).

In 2022, Barclays Bank in the UK, finally told me they were closing my account. This is as a result of Brexit and Passporting rules between the UK and the EU. I have three private pensions (I know it sounds a lot but it's not big money) and they were paid (in Sterling) to Barclays. But I have an account at Wise with an account in Sterling. It is actually a Barclays account with a UK sort-code. What could be simpler than asking the pension companies to switch to paying Wise? Two of the three, both large well-established companies changed over without problems. But the third (I won't mention their name because they have now acquiesced) argued and argued for ever. I have a mountain of letters between us because they did not have secure mail online. They were happy to pay the money to my Spanish bank for a fee of £50 with, of course, my having no control over the exchange rate. Sure they were!

In the end, they sent a ludicrous request for my passport (the original or a certified copy), a utility bill and my Wise account (which conveniently showed payments from the other two pension companies!) Did they not know who I was?

I suspected this was to save loss of face because their reasons for not paying Wise were ridiculous, quoting the UK financial protection service (FSCS). They were effectively deciding how I should protect my money.  On 14th October, the money arrived in my Sterling account in Wise. (Hard-fought) battle won!

The next post (very soon) will be more colourful with lots of photos. This post is all rather dry... all about money! But I just wanted you to know that I'm still alive and enjoying life!

The Battle of los Estupidos

This morning, as with most days, I was suffering from a brain fog. Sometimes it clears during the day, sometimes never.

I had forgotten the PIN for a credit card which I didn't use very often. On the way to the swimming pool, I stopped off at my bank. In the old paper-full days, the person at the desk would have given me a slip of paper with a temporary PIN. Now, he explained, having activated some process on his terminal, I had to go to the ATM, insert the card and I will receive a code in my phone.

My turn to be stupid. I passed the card by the contactless pad on the ATM. The machine sent the code to my phone, accepted my new PIN and the number sent to my phone. It waited a bit then displayed a message, "Transaction cancelled".

I was having trouble reading the numbers on my phone and the display kept on timing out. So I tried a couple more times.

But, of course, how can the ATM reprogram my card if it is in my hand?

Finally, the assistant did it for me and then it dawned on me, my mistake.

But later, having written a great deal of software in my time, I started to think. Maybe other people have made the same mistake. Maybe many people don't know where the PIN is stored anyway. 

Does the machine not know whether the card was scanned or inserted in the slot? I cannot believe that, I am sure it is lazy programming. When I was writing software, almost 60% of my time was covering all possible human errors. So the software should have prompted me to insert the card. And at the very least, at the end, it should have displayed a message which meant something useful such as "card not found". Then my mistake would have been more obvious.

Anyway, all is resolved. But I ended up feeling really stupid for not realising my error... and later, feeling annoyed about the software which could gently have pointed me in the right direction.

But my swimming on a beautiful hot day in Celrà cured all my annoyance. Another super day.

But on 12th September, I have to return to Lanzarote for a Concilación. The estate agent (see my previous posts) wants their €2,500 and is taking both me and the proprietor to court to recover the money. This meeting instigated by the Law Courts, is an attempt to find a solution before going to court. And I still haven't received back my deposit of €7,700.

Strange people

 I suppose every city has its league of drop-outs, beggars and people who are not quite right in the head.. or people who are just plain stupid (like me many times). And Arrecife has a few. No more than any city I am sure but, because the city is not very big, I get to recognise each one.

But something on the beach upset me this afternoon and it prompted me to write this post.

I went earlier than normal so I spent some time under one of the palm trees at the back of the beach because the sun was very strong. There was a guy nearby just standing, wearing street clothes. And he just stood there, or wandered around. It made me feel uncomfortable although, of course, I was not under any threat. I was a short distance from the street. Later he left, so that was OK.

Then I moved down the beach into the sun, I went swimming. At low tide, there is only one entry point into the sea, free of rocks which was about 20m to my right (I am sure it has been carved out like that). When I came back, I was relaxing on my towel on my back when I heard a kind of sniffing sound. One of the two guys who I had seen earlier in the sea walked right past me, barely 1m away. And this was on a half-empty beach where my nearest neighbour was about 20m away. And he had no reason to walk past me, he would have had to make a huge detour from the sea to where he and his friend were based. Ridiculous as it sounds, I could not come to any other conclusion than that he had come to look at me. It left me feeling very unsettled. The two guys were about 40, slightly overweight. I don't even know what nationality they were. Maybe he was just plain stupid with no idea of distance, Covid or no-Covid. The fact that I am vaccinated doesn't make much difference to how I feel - I am still very careful.

Who next? Outside my local supermarket there is always the same guy with his cup which he rattles in front of people entering and leaving. He also accosts people passing in the street (Actually it is a pedestrian zone, called Calle Real. But in fact it is an extension of my street, Calle León y Castillo). He is always there. And he always approaches me despite my having ignored him for about 5 months. But the Spanish are more generous that us Brits and some people chat with him and give him money. Obviously this guy does not have mental defects, this is the only easy way he can see to make money.

Up to about a month ago there was a guy, large but not fat, about 50 I guess, who seemed to live in Calle Real but he wasn't begging. He had a kindly face. He slept in the entrance to a bank and spent the day sitting on a bench. I often used to wonder about how he had arrived in such a state. Unlike the guy outside the supermarket, who was younger, I felt sympathy for him. And then one day, he was lying on the pavement with his wrist bleeding surrounded by a number of people. One woman was getting very aggresive which is unusual in Spain. It was obvious that it was not life-threatening and I passed by. Next day I saw two people from social services talking with him. A couple of weeks later, he was no longer there. I hope that they are taking good care of him.

I met a woman at the pension where I was staying and she tended to chat with almost anyone whereas I am far more reserved. One day I was passing la Charca and she introduced me to a black guy who she said was a musician. I regretted that meeting because he now holds court on a couple of benches close to where I walk up to my flat. I don't know where he lives, maybe under a bridge somewhere but he is almost always there with a small crowd of acolytes. He used to address me with a loud, "Good afternoon" but I now ignore him. He begged for money a couple of times so that was my excuse. His English was very good - maybe he is English.

There is a very skinny woman about 50, I was sure she has sisters because I would see her so often in shop entrances. She begs, but not agressively. There is another girl, almost like a younger version, and she zooms around bars asking for money. Actually she is quite sweet... but she is still begging. Both have short hair in a classical lesbian style.

There is a very sad guy about 60, again in Calle Real, who shakes a plastic cup but wthout much hope. Another middle-aged woman seems to be a friend of the black guy. She looks like any other middle aged woman but the back-pack is a clue to the fact that she is probably homeless. And the fact that sometimes she is seated on the pavement outside shops, talking loudly. Yes, I guess that is a clue too.

Other people in Arrecife...

There is a man, middle-aged, who always rides an old blue bike and he is always topless. Another man is extremely tall and rides a bike with lots of bulging paniers which I guess is his life. I imagine that he lives under a rock somewhere. I suppose one can do that here because the nights are not as cold as in the rest of Europe. One man I often see looks like a sea-captain. He has one leg and one prosthetic metal leg.

Maybe people consider me a little strange. I don't see many guys with long hair. I don't see any guys with long hair! When I get my courage up, I want to be more feminine when I go out. Next time I come back, I will bring more of my girly clothes. That will shock my neighbours! When I was on holiday in Fuerteventura last year, I went out wearing a dress. One of the first things I want to do when I get back to Catalunya is to paint my nails. I didn't bring the UV lamp or the varnishes with me this time. The colour will be my favourite, swimming pool blue!

Something that I knew some time ago, the singing voice is not the same as the spoken voice. I sometimes stop to listen to a young Spanish guy singing with his guitar outside the bars in el Charco and I drop 50 centimos in his guitar case (only 50 cents you say!) But when he introduces his songs, it is evident that he has a terrible stammer. His songs are all in Spanish unlike one guy who appeared in Calle Real a few weeks ago. He had a horrible rasping voice and he sang all the corny old 70s favourites, such as Running Like the Wind, to his guitar. No 50 centimos for you, sorry.

I feel fortunate to have income from the UK so in no way am I being critical of these people. It makes me feel lucky because at times in my life, I could have gone up or down. Maybe not living on the street but not far off it. 

Things that annoy me. Well not much. Spitting is so disgusting and dirty, I hesitate to mention it here. I normally say something. Guys spit here... and also in Celrà, so it is not unique to Lanzarote. It is unhealthy also but more so during the pandemic.

There sems to be a number of sad guys who feel the need to feed pigeons around el Charco in spite of notices which say, "Don't feed the pigeons" in three languages. They tend to bring an entire loaf of bread and scatter it around the part just above the water. I was greatly amused a few days ago to see a guy on a racing bike stop close to the bar where I was having a beer. He was wearing cleats, the serious cycling shoes. And I looked up to see that he was nursing a pigeon in his hands. Stroking its tail, its wings. Much love. I exchanged quizzical looks with another couple in the bar who had also seen this chap. He fed it water from his bottle. Finally he rode away with his pigeon in his hand. I joked with the couple that maybe it was now a pet (mascota in Spanish). I think they were German so maybe they didn't understand my Spanish. However, we enjoyed the joke!

sorry, reverse angle!

my lounge/kitchen is on the left

Noise tends to be a problem wherever one lives in Spain.... or maybe in the world. This is a narrow street for neighbours only (there is a sign to say so) next to my lounge which is on the left. These two cars are not permitted to park as they don't have a permit. The 4x4 nearer to the camera is not even a neighbour and this guy really takes the mickey, he parks there almost all the time. I went and reported him to the local police but, guess what, nothing happened. I wrote an email to the local police and nothing happened. I spoke to an English guy who lives just down this street and he said that the police do issue parking tickets...... once a year!

The problem for me is the state of the paving stones next to the wall on the left. They are broken and loose (they are for pedestrians, not cars), and they rock during the night when a car attempts to pass the parked cars. So it tends to wake me up. And it is annoying during the day too. I wrote an email to the Works department in the Town Hall, nothing happened. I wrote two more times - no reply. I spoke to a guy in one of the trucks of the Works department and he promised that he would look at it, but nothing new so far. He said words to the effect, "Huh, don't waste your time with the Town Hall, nothing happens"! They have a warehouse up by Ikea which is about a 30 minute walk (which I know well!) If the same state of affairs is still here when I return, I will do a Denuncia with the local police. Then they and the Works department have to do something.

But this is one small thing among many great advantages of living here, so I have no complaints really. I certainly landed on my feet here (at the second attempt at buying a flat!)

More about money claims

My last post about buying flats ended with my planned meeting at the Colegio de Abogados. That was on 5th May and, having provided the missing document, there was a long pause as the woman read through her sheaf of documents. "What is your income?" she asked. Well, she knew that from day one because it was one of the first things I had to provide. She looked at the figure, she seemed confused. She wrote a euro sign after the amount to add to my euro sign before the amount as if to make it clearer.

"This is too much, it is over our limit for free assistance."

Well, the upshot of this was that she gave me another form to add to the one that I had received earlier confirming the acceptance of the offer. This new form said that my claim had been "provisionally" rejected!

"So I have wasted my time?" I said (but very politely because previously I had pulled her leg about being impatient with me. So I had decided to be on my best behaviour.)

"Well, no, in 2 months time the application will be reviewed, the rejection is only provisional."

So I was back to square one. I contacted a new lawyer to ask his advice. Alfonso. He looked through all my documents, and generously said that my claim was "viable". But he did not fill me with optimism.

Then there was a new unwelcome development. Out of the blue, about a week ago, I received a phone call from the lawyer of the estate agent. You may remember from my previous post that, according to the contract of the option to buy (the first apartment), there was a sum of €2,500 to be paid to the estate agent by the person (Pablo or me) who had defaulted on the contract. I had hoped that there was a third way (in the tradition of Tony Blair) in which neither of us was at default, the contract could be annulled. Having heard nothing for 5 months, I assumed that the estate agent and Pablo had come to some kind of agreement, after all, they did business together.

The lawyer saw things in black and white, he saw no third way. I will call him Sergio. He was very amicable and clearly thought that I had not defaulted on the contract. He wanted to speak to my lawyer.

"Give me his name and phone number, and I will call him." Haha.. no way. I said that I would give Alfonso his number and maybe he will reply.

Alfonso had no interest in talking to Sergio, he simply wanted to carry on with my claim. So I spoke to Sergio instead. And it soon became clear what his motive was. He could not decide whether to sue me or Pablo for the €2,500. So he wanted to hitch a ride on my claim against Pablo. If I won, he would claim the €2,500 from Pablo and vice-versa. I refused that immediately. He said that Pablo was not returning his calls. I suggested he went to Pablo's office in Arrecife. It was only then that I discovered that he was in Tenerife.

So his response was that he would take both me and Pablo to court and whoever lost would have to pay the €2,500. But courts don't work like that. It is not a beauty contest, "Who is the fairer of the two? Pablo or Steve"!

So that is how things are at the moment. Instead of Sergio hitching a ride on my case, which to me was unacceptable, I will see what is the outcome of his futile attempt to take two people to court at the same time for the same claim. Maybe the Colegio de Abogados will change their mind (actually I think it is the Cabildo, the government of Lanzarote, that makes the decision). I am not worried. I told Sergio that I had a huge folder of documents (un montón de documentos) which clearly shows that I was justified in withdrawing from the contract, even if he does manage to take me to court.

I am going back to Catalunya on Tuesday - I am looking forward to that! Much as I love Arrecife, there are things that I miss in Celrà. My balcony, my bike, my friends. And maybe soon we won't have to wear masks in the open air. I have enough trouble remembering faces under normal conditions, to remember eyes is quite a challenge for me. Partly for that reason, I have only the two girls who work at the pension as friends here. Maybe I will come back here during the summer for a few days, I don't know but I will definitely come back in October to stay for the winter. The flights are very cheap because I get a huge discount for being a resident of the islands (Well they are cheap anyway these days. My ticket is €30 but that includes choice of seat and checked baggage. 10.30am flight to BCN with Vueling, perfect. Walk up to the bus station, 15 mins, bus at 8am.) I guess that, if a flight is €30 for all people, I get a very small discount if any, I don't get 70% off €30.