In the past weekend I booted up Deluxe Paint IV for the first time in twenty-odd years...



This may be a very strange thing to mention when offering commentary on a lush primal forest scene with dragon and spriggan watching over a dance of wisp-tamers, almost as bridesmaids dancing along their way to the wedding of vixen and tod. But please, bear with me; it will soon become apparent.



In my childhood home, there is a Commodore Amiga 500+. A faithful workhorse from childhood, but a relic today, spared the breaker's pliers for sentimental reasons only. In 1993 Deluxe Paint IV was the industry standard, comparable to Photoshop today, but in the hands of a nine-year old with negligible knowledge of English it did little good - labourously plotting crude pictures pixel by pixel. All ironically with the disbelieving eyes of Gurney's dinosaurs over my shoulder: Ah, so easy feeling blind in hindsight.

On a whim, I thought to see if two decades of absence could have made a difference.



The Amiga is an American system. The operating voltage is far different from the European grid; the main switchbox a plastic brick barely fit for the transformers within. Delicate spun copper wire and fragile insulators. The box has been exposed to noon sunlight for years. Yet flipping the breaker, nothing out of the ordinary happens. Microchips are perishable: The Motorola processor was launched in 1979 - who knows how old this particular chip is? - but within moments the computer responds with its familiar ticking, spindles turning and checking for a disk. The CRT monitor, a fragile vacuum tube with a thin phosphorus lining, as proudly as ever shows the rainbow checkmark.

I put the program disk in - there is no crack of failing springs. A diskette too is very much perishable, only a wafer of chemically doped plastic on a metal hub. If it has not crumbled, the soft rubber parts holding it in place may have. Nevertheless, within a minute the main menu appears. The mouse is of the oldest sort imaginable: Obviously a ball, springs and ratchets - hundreds of delicate parts in a little plastic case. Nevertheless, the ancient components respond without fail.

Within an hour of struggling with the archaic technical language and the unfamiliar workflow, there is a snowy mountain peak with an ocean mirror on the screen.

And I realise it is a miraculous fortune it is there.



This turned out very long, more tangential than not, and perhaps too much of a personal tale for the comment ladder. But it is the only way I can render in words a feeling I am certain many, many others share seeing this picture after the events of the past week.



Well done, and welcome back.