Strapped

LXV, my Leica X Vario camera, was well looked-after by its first owner. Its inspection certificates say that it left the Wetzlar factory in Germany on 27th November 2013, and on 17th May 2022 - when it arrived at my front doorstep from mpb.com, nearly nine years later - it was still in almost-new condition. So were its two original batteries, which, used alternately, were both still capable of holding a full charge: enough on occasion for over 1,000 shots before needing a recharge. 

These are good signs of light but careful and considerate usage. 

The previous owner had attended to the single firmware update, had carefully preserved packaging and documentation, and had remembered to deregister his or her ownership with Leica, so that I could immediately tell them that Frau Lucy Melford was the new registered owner. 

Again, strong indications that he or she had looked after the camera properly, and had taken 'Leica ownership' seriously. 

The previous owner hadn't stopped there. He or she had invested in two nice accessories, which I inherited. One was a Cellonic third-party battery charger, which I was glad to have, as it was much better than the official X Series charger. The other accessory was the deep metal lens hood specially made by Leica for the X Vario. That was an unexpected and most welcome bonus. A lens hood not only stops unwanted light spoiling one's pictures, but it protects the front element of the X Vario's zoom lens from all but deliberate damage. 

Missing was the official Leica fabric neck strap (no loss, as I had a third-party Op-Tech cross-body strap to use); and a tiny bit of plastic, the hot shoe cover, which had somehow got lost (nice to have, but not essential; more a cosmetic thing).

When new, LXV would have cost the 2023 equivalent of £2,750, with most accessories extra. Altogether the previous owner must have spent nearly £3,000 in today's money. And I paid mpb.com only £599. In 2022 this would have been well over the odds for any ordinary compact camera coming up for its ninth birthday. But not for a German-made Leica. I'd had something of a bargain! And LXV has not disappointed me since. I've taken over 21,000 photographs with this camera since it arrived eleven months ago, with nary a falter or glitch. Most of the shots seen on this blog since mid-May 2022 were taken with LXV. And my Flickr site has thousands on display. 

As you will readily see, we have bonded, and LXV has become a cherished companion. And - of course - cherished companions deserve only the best. So I've recently added three more official Leica accessories. 

The first was a handgrip (see my post Getting a grip, on 4th February 2023). 

And within the last few days, a replacement hot shoe cover, all the way from B&H in New York. Here are the before-and-after pictures:

On the same day that the hot shoe cover came, I picked up a leather carrying strap from Park Cameras in Burgess Hill. The rest of this post is about that strap. 

I'd been using an Op-Tech cross-body strap with a neoprene shoulder pad. It was well-made, practical and comfortable, and had done the job for nearly a year. But it wasn't elegant. The neoprene part was inevitably a bit bulky - not really something to wear with a smart outfit. 

This apart, the way this strap attached to LXV didn't inspire me with ultimate confidence. It relied on plastic connectors, and cords that threaded through the metal eyelets on each side of the camera. Somewhere down the line - not soon, but eventually - I could see those cords fraying, or the plastic connectors getting brittle, so that without warning my camera might hurtle to the ground. Come to that, if ever I had to hang by just the camera strap from the 201st floor of a very tall building - never mind why - I could see it ending badly. 

I wanted a leather strap, which would be strong and last forever, fitted with metal rings to form an unbreakable connection with those eyelets. A little research on the Internet established that Leica did a discreet black leather carrying strap that would meet my requirements. I knew that Park Cameras, not far away, didn't currently have it in stock, but I could go and ask them to order me one. This I did. (I was of course already 'in their system' from previous purchases) It cost £90.

They texted me when the strap arrived, and I collected it later that day. The packaging was - as expected from Leica - superior:

The strap itself could be adjusted to hang from the neck over one's boobs, or in cross-body fashion. I configured it for cross-body wear. I had no trouble getting the metal rings through the eyelets - no broken nails - and (to my relief) the tabs that protected the paintwork of the camera from being rubbed away by the metal rings sat nicely, even on the side where the handgrip came very close to the tab. The leather was clearly of high quality, quite thick enough to be very durable and strong (not that I'm heading to the nearest high-rise to test it out). The 'shoulder pad' wasn't as substantial as the neoprene pad on the Op-Tech strap, but still felt comfortable. 

Above all, this new leather strap added a distinct touch of luxury to LXV. Yes, it was the right thing to buy. Definitely worth £90.

At the moment the new black leather strap is a bit stiff, but it will soon be as supple as the brown leather strap on my blue Pittards bag. I will look after it, too. I have already found some leather cream to apply.

Obviously, the new strap will have no effect whatever on the quality of LXV's photos, although it may be that improving the look of my already-respectable camera will create better photo opportunities. People seem more ready to unlock doors, and let you shoot things the ordinary public never sees, if they think you are a 'real' photographer with a serious purpose - and who am I to put them right? 

The last few shots - as you will guess - were taken with my three-year-old phone. Which goes to show what accomplished shots phones can capture. They already surpass most cameras for everyday use, but their drawback - and it can never be remedied - is that they are not camera-shaped. They can't be held securely, and slick operation requires excellent eyesight and accurately-aimed fingers. Proper cameras, with physical controls, can be set up to use by touch alone. 

On that aspect of elegance - or at least greater neatness and unobtrusiveness - these before-and-after pictures of myself wearing the Op-Tech strap in the morning, and the Leica strap later on, illustrate what the latter has brought to the table. You don't notice the thinner, leather Leica strap nearly so much. And wouldn't see it at all against a dark jacket, dress or top.

Each of these accessories adds some weight to the basic camera, the handgrip adding the most (91g). So I weighed LXV (as now fully accoutred) on my kitchen scales, to find out how much I would be carrying around most days.

788g - that's not too bad. This is essentially the entire kit - the camera ready for a day out, with a battery and SD card inside, and lens hood, handgrip, hot shoe cover and leather strap attached. It's not lightweight; there's some heft here that I can feel; but nor is it 'heavy'. 

I worked out that the very popular Leica Q2 - roughly LXV's modern equivalent, but more upmarket and much more expensive - similarly kitted out would weigh 866g. LXV is slightly lighter. 

But the Q2 is weatherproofed, and doesn't need a carrying bag to protect it from the elements. LXV does. If I carry LXV in its Lowepro bag, the overall load is 788g for the camera plus 245g for the bag = 1,033g altogether. But then that's only necessary in bad weather. In sunshine - so far as heft is concerned anyway - LXV can thumb its nose at the Q2 (or indeed any other Q, S or M Series Leica). 

And despite having a zoom lens, LXV is no heavier than a mirrorless Fujifilm X-T5 with a 23mm f/2.0 or f/1.4 prime lens attached. So there.

That test warning of a dire emergency

Did you get the government's experimental emergency warning message on your phone at 3.00pm today? Were you as disappointed as I was?

The message itself was just as expected, and I was fine with it. 

I had however hoped for more compelling sound effects, on the lines of a current police, ambulance or fire vehicle siren. Or perhaps the loud ringing noise such vehicles emitted decades ago. Or perhaps something like a shrill and piercing trumpet. Or a foghorn. But all I heard was a rather subdued droning noise that I can't now quite recall: it was that forgettable. Like the tickle from my FitBit, it was sufficient to disturb me from my afternoon kip, but it certainly didn't get my adrenalin surging. I might not have noticed it at all if I'd been in another room, or engaged in something that needed my full attention. 

It might also have been a good idea to get the phone screen flashing red or yellow.

So why the muted noise, and no flashes? These emergency messages are to warn you that some life-threatening incident is coming your way, such as a river overflowing its banks, or an especially high tide, or noxious fumes from a factory accident, and you need to get away fast. Perhaps it was decided - as this was only a test - that it was unnecessary to send out something that would actually shock people into paying proper attention. Maybe they had visions of startled people dropping boiling kettles and hot saucepans. We are not used to sudden emergency messages. But we'll have to get used to them. I'm sure that nature, disturbed by climate change, has a few nasty surprises in store for the years ahead. I for one would welcome being warned if a tsunami, or a tornado, or a small meteorite, were on its way.  

A crucial feature I had forgotten about

I'm now in North Devon, on my usual farm not far from Great Torrington. I arrived in wet weather, and although I've seen much more sunshine (and even warmth) in these parts, it has remained - shall we say - a little soft underfoot. Yesterday, and the day before, were bright and brilliantly sunny at times. But I awoke to dull skies and light rain this morning. That means more mud.

Notwithstanding this, I've buzzed around in Fiona. Two days ago I drove down to Tintagel, and hour and a half away in North Cornwall, and had a great time exploring the cliffs there, and getting the views, even though it made my injured right knee stiff later on. I'm here for nearly two weeks more, and I plan a road trip to Looe in South Cornwall, a drive across Dartmoor, and a train journey to Exeter from Okehampton on the recently reopened line, which now has an hourly service. Also plenty of more local outings.

I don't go on holiday to spend, but even so I've bought clothes at Sidmouth (yet to be worn in suitable sunshine), a tray at Bridport, some DVDs in Yeovil, and a painting at Bideford. It's nice to know that to some extent these will be covered by the money saved by not paying for nearly so much gas and electricity at home! OVO Energy must be puzzled why my consumption has dropped so drastically, unless their use-analysis algorithm can guess that I own a caravan, and have simply gone on a early-season four-weeker. Going on holiday is a way of keeping their usage predictions - and therefore what they want for the monthly direct debit - within bounds.

Whatever warm glow I might obtain from wrong-footing OVO, I wish I were getting a warm glow from the sun as well. It's only the start of April, but I've often had very nice weather in the past at this time of year. Squelching about on soft ground and wet grass is not great fun. Thank goodness for wellies!

When I arrived here, two motorhomes had already pitched at the nearer end of the long barn. Not the plum spot at 'my' end, but close to the entrance gate. Here's the setup. After taking the lane from Great Torrington, you turn off, open a gate, and then run past the back of the long barn to another gate that lets you onto the site. Then it's a left turn - on a slight slope - to pitch in front of the barn. These shots - mostly taken after the two motorhomes left to go home - will make it plain:

Given two days without rain, the ground dries and becomes firm. But constant rain can make hauling a caravan onto and off the site - or steering any kind of motorhome - rather tricky. The two outfits that arrived before me, hoping for a week of good weather for a sixty-fifth birthday treat - both skidded about, and could do no more than end up tucked parallel to the barn, with their front wheels stuck in ruts. The ground had been saturated from all the heavy rain, and their attempts to manoeuvre had simply made matters worse and worse.

I had no trouble whatever, and didn't expect to have. I smoothly drew my caravan through each gate, and backed it onto my usual pitch. No wheel spin, no deep marks on the grass. Here's the proof:

I was reversing on a slightly uphill slope, on very wet grass, and my caravan weighs over a ton. The people in the two motorhomes were out for the day, enjoying a local walk, and did not witness my arrival. But they must have wondered when they returned just how I'd managed to get my caravan perfectly pitched without scarring the grass. Whereas their own orchestral manoeuvres had left deep pits. As in these shots, taken after their departure:

They'd become totally stuck, and departed only with the help of Phil, the farm owner, who hauled them off the site by towing them with his trusty old Land Rover. Even so, the first motorhome to go left skid marks, as the spinning steering wheels couldn't get a proper grip. I watched from my snug caravan, took a few shots through a side window, and inspected the scene on foot a while later:

No straightforward run at that gate was possible for the motorhome nearer the gate. Phil had to take it around in a wide arc: 

I felt sorry for the two couples, who were together and having joint birthday celebrations. The weather, the general wetness and muddiness, and getting stuck like this, must have seriously compromised their holiday.

So how come they got into difficulties and I didn't? 

It's down to the transmission of power to the driving wheels. They, the motorhome owners, had only front wheel drive. I have permanent four-wheel drive - plus winter-grade tyres that grip wet grass really well. Phil's Land Rover naturally had four wheel drive too. Here it is, in the barn:

It's twenty-one years old, and still going strong. Phil and Ann use a modern 'normal' car for ordinary driving, replaced every couple of years; but Phil swears by the Land Rover, for getting about in the fields, hauling trailers, and occasionally getting caravanners and motorhomers out of trouble.

And here's the thing. No four-wheel drive vehicle is economical to own. It has a complicated transmission that increases fuel consumption. It's heavier. More can wear out, or go wrong. But it adds traction, and you'll keep moving, keep pulling, uphill or down, in all but the direst conditions. 

Four wheel drive is great for caravanning. It's a basic feature I specified when having Fiona built for me back in 2010, and I'd rather forgotten it was there. I'd been considering when to replace Fiona, and what with, but not factoring in the need to have a car with four-wheel drive. For as long as I would need to haul a caravan, I must have four-wheel drive.  

That somewhat simplified my future choices. Setting aside all-electric cars (the better ones would have two motors and effectively four-wheel drive), I'd have to go for a large, strong diesel (or possibly petrol) car with the right kind of transmission. That narrowed it down to Land Rover, Audi, Volvo, Toyota, Mitsubishi, Nissan or Kia. I could accept high but affordable running costs. But I must have durability, reliability and comfort. I'd even consider a truck if it made any sense.

And meanwhile, I had Fiona, getting older now but with this taken-for-granted ace up her sleeve: four-wheel drive. I mustn't lose sight of that.