UK 1987

Sinclair ZX Spectrum: a visual compendium

Available now: https://www.bitmapbooks.com/collections/all-books/products/sinclair-zx-spectrum-a-visual-compendium

Featuring classics such as Ant Attack, Monty Mole, Dizzy, The Lords of Midnight and, of course, Manic Miner, Sinclair ZX Spectrum: a visual compendium is a retro gamer’s delight.

#bitmapbooks #book #retrogaming #retrogames #gaming #art #reading #foryou #zxspectrum #marsport

Boom recs ask game

124. 125. 129.

124 the book you're currently reading

Heh. Book.

Wheel of Time 3 The Dragon Reborn by Robert Jordan, Needful Things by Stephen King, Dracula by Bram Stoker, Resident Evil 2 City of the Dead by SD Perry, The King in Yellow by Robert W Chambers, Frankenstein by Marry Shelly, Destroyermen: Crusade by Taylor Anderson, and Alien: The Official Novelization by Alan Dean Foster, lol

125 favorite autumn read

Anything spooky. One of my favorite things I did a few years was cuddle up under blankets outside on the deck and read The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, even though I ended up hating the book when I got to the last few pages, lol. But it gave me a love of reading spooky things outside in the fall, so I'm at least thankful for that. This year I'll probably try to finish the King in Yellow.

129 book with beautiful prose

There are so many ways I could answer this and within a year I'd change my mind on all of them. I flip flop so much on what kind of prose I like it's crazy. Right now I'm kind of fascinated by semi-minimalist writing, mostly because it's what I struggle the most when I write. The Nightside Series by Simon R Green is a good example of someone who can fit a lot of character and story and lore into surprisingly short books. Isaac Asimov and Philip K Dick can also fit a lot into a short story. Particularly Asimov's short story Nightfall. Another of his stories, I'm in Marsport Without Hilda, also has some pretty good writing, and it's a great time capsule of when it was written.

A Marina do Funchal passa agora a deter combustível exclusivo para Embarcações ⛽🚤⛵ Estimado utente, agora no nosso posto de abastecimento poderá encontrar os produtos Repsol MarSport 95 e Repsol MarDiesel e+, combustíveis exclusivos para embarcações de recreio no qual o objetivo é otimizar o consumo e a potência dos motores dos barcos, graças à sua formulação. Estes combustíveis têm como principal foco, proteger as superfícies metálicas do circuito de alimentação da água do mar e evitar a geração de ferrugem nos motores.

Traffic Stop

Author: Alastair Millar They got us on Gagarin Avenue, by Central Hub’s tourist centre with its garish scrolling ads. Janey and I had borrowed one of ’Lymp’s crawlers for the two day trek back to Marsport. Everyone assumed we were just using the independence referendum as an excuse to catch some R&R, but we planned to register our partnership too; just in case of accidents, we told each other,…

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why does ocean kayak tetra kayaks review have more than 7,422 rating reviews

Read on for a list of top 4 Ocean Kayak Tetra Kayaks Review, ranked by how many stars they received. 

Which company is a well-known brand in the market and their products are liked by many people. Let's consider big names such as Intex, BRIS, AZXRHWYGS, Marsports before making any purchase. This article is written based on 7,422 customer's reviews; thus, you can be assured of its reliability.

CONTINUE READING

from Bestkayaks.guide https://ift.tt/yjuERx1

Marsport Año: 1985 Plataformas: Amstrad CPC, ZX Spectrum

There have been bigger cities. There have been richer cities. There have certainly been prettier cities. But no city in the multiverse could rival Ankh-Morpork for its smell. The Ancient Ones, who know everything about all the universes and have smelt the smells of Calcutta and !Xrc---! and dauntocum Marsport, have agreed that even these fine examples of nasal poetry are mere limericks when set against the glory of the Ankh-Morpork smell.

Terry Pratchett / The Light Fantastic

Marsport by TK769

Nine Tomorrows by Isaac Asimov, with contemporary descriptions for each short story or poem:

"I Just Make Them Up, See!": #writerproblems

"Profession": A Black Mirror Special

"The Feeling of Power":  A Crossover Between Late Stage Capitalism and the Military-Industrial Complex

"The Dying Night": Sherlock But Sci-Fi

"I'm in Marsport Without Hilda": The #Pharmblr Favorite 

"The Gentle Vultures": 2018 Positivity (Please Let It Be Positivity)

"All the Troubles of the World":

Bureaucrat: we have designed a supercomputer that can handle every single human problem. Software Engineer: you fucked up a perfectly good AI is what you did. look at it. it has depression

"Spell My Name with an S": The Red Butterfly Effect

"The Last Question": How to Give Chemistry Students Existential Crises

"The Ugly Little Boy": Pleistocene Park

"Rejection Slips": Also #writerproblems

UK 1985

Marsport by TK769 / Adrian Mark Gillespie

Marsport - R--------r

Craig Marsport Hill has this awesome looking lime green Spade Kayaks Black Jack. It has to be one of the first Black Jacks here in the UK.

Here is a Spade Kayaks Black Jack – First Look. Lets us know what you think in the comments section below.

The design looks really clean. The Black Jack is a modern white water kayak that perfectly bridges the gap between a river runner and a creek boat. High volume and high rocker give it the dry line ability and buoyancy that a full on creek boat needs. A flat bottom and a pronounced rail deliver dynamic reactivity even on mellower waters.

With 285 litres of volume the Jack is built for paddlers between 60 and 85 kg, too much chocolate and Red Bull means that this one is too small for me.

The outfitting is straight forward. It’s not designed to be fancy, it’s designed to work.

Specs:

Length: 256 cm Width: 66 cm Volume: 285 liters Weight: approx. 2o kg Colour: yellow, green, red Paddler weight: 60–85 kg

Spade Kayaks Black Jack – First Look Craig Marsport Hill has this awesome looking lime green Spade Kayaks Black Jack. It has to be one of the first Black Jacks here in the UK.

Mary Celestial

Author: Alastair Millar When we found her, the Marsport Mary should have been dark and silent, or a wreck. Instead, the lights burned, the life support systems ticked over, the computers hummed… but there was nobody aboard. The salvage crews are bringing her in this afternoon; no doubt she’ll be in the news for a while. I won’t be watching: I’m scared, and I’d rather forget. She’d been “overdue:…

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'You did it again!' said Twoflower, pointing an accusing finger. 'You say things and then don't know you've said them!' 'I just said we'd better stay,' said Rincewind. 'You said the star was life, not death,' said Twoflower. 'Your voice went all crackly and far away. Didn't it?' He turned to the shopkeeper for confirmation. 'That's true,' said the little man. 'I thought his eyes crossed a bit, too.' 'It's the Spell, then,' said Rincewind. 'It's trying to take me over. It knows what's going to happen, and I think it wants to go to Ankh-Morpork. I want to go too,' he added defiantly. 'Can you get us there?' 'Is that the big city on the Ankh? Sprawling place, smells of cesspits?' 'It has an ancient and honourable history,' said Rincewind, his voice stiff with injured civic pride. 'That's not how you described it to me,' said Twoflower. 'You told me it was the only city that actually started out decadent.' Rincewind looked embarrassed. Yes, but, well, it's my home, don't you see?' 'No,' said the shopkeeper, 'not really. I always say home is where you hang your hat.' 'Um, no,' said Twoflower, always anxious to enlighten. 'Where you hang your hat is a hatstand. A home is —' 'I'll just go and see about setting you on your way,' said the shopkeeper hurriedly, as Bethan came in. He scooted past her. Twoflower followed him. On the other side of the curtain was a room with a small bed, a rather grubby stove, and a three-legged table. Then the shopkeeper did something to the table, here was a noise like a cork coming reluctantly out of a bottle, and the room contained a wall-to-wall universe. 'Don't be frightened,' said the shopkeeper, as stars streamed past. 'I'm not frightened,' said Twoflower, his eyes sparkling. 'Oh,' said the shopkeeper, slightly annoyed. 'Anyway, it's just imagery generated by the shop, it's not real.' 'And you can go anywhere?' 'Oh no,' said the shopkeeper, deeply shocked. 'There's all kinds of fail-safes built in, after all, there'd be no point in going somewhere with insufficient per capita disposable income. And there's got to be a suitable wall, of course. Ah, here we are, this is your universe. Very bijou, I always think. A sort of universette . . .' Here is the blackness of space, the myriad stars gleaming like diamond dust or, as some people would say, like great balls of exploding hydrogen a very long way off. But then, some people would say anything. A shadow starts to blot out the distant glitter, and it is blacker than space itself. From here it also looks a great deal bigger, because space is not really big, it is simply somewhere to be big in. Planets are big, but planets are meant to be big and there is nothing clever about being the right size. But this shape blotting out the sky like the footfall of God isn't a planet. It is a turtle, ten thousand miles long from its crater-pocked head to its armoured tail. And Great A'Tuin is huge. Great flippers rise and fall ponderously, warping space into strange shapes. The Discworld slides across the sky like a royal barge. But even Great A'Tuin is struggling now as it leaves the free depths of space and must fight the tormenting pressures of the solar shallows. Magic is weaker here, on the littoral of light. Many more days of his and the Discworld will be stripped away by the pressures of reality. Great A'Tuin knows this, but Great A'Tuin can recall doing all this before, many thousands of years ago. The astrochelonian's eyes, glowing red in the light of the dwarf star, are not focussed on it but at a little patch of space nearby . . . 'Yes, but where are we?' said Twoflower. The shopkeeper, hunched over his table, just shrugged. 'I don't think we're anywhere,' he said. 'We're in a cotangent incongruity, I believe. I could be wrong. The shop generally knows what it's doing.' 'You mean you don't?' 'I pick a bit up, here and there.' The shopkeeper blew his nose. 'Sometimes I land on a world where they understand these things.' He turned a pair of small, sad eyes on Twoflower. 'You've got a kind face, sir. I don't mind telling you.' 'Telling me what?' 'It's no life, you know, minding the Shop. Never settling down, always on the move, never closing.' Why don't you stop, then?' 'Ah, that's it, you see, sir—I can't. I'm under a curse, I am. A terrible thing.' He blew his nose again. 'Cursed to run a shop?' 'Forever, sir, forever. And never closing! For hundreds of years! There was this sorcerer, you see. I did a terrible thing.' 'In a shop?' said Twoflower. 'Oh, yes. I can't remember what it was he wanted, but when he asked for it I – I gave one of those sucking-in noises, you know, like whistling only backwards?' He demonstrated. Twoflower looked sombre, but he was at heart a kind man and always ready to forgive. 'I see,' he said slowly. 'Even so —' 'That's not all!' 'Oh.' 'I told him there was no demand for it!' 'After making the sucking noise?' 'Yes. I probably grinned, too.' 'Oh, dear. You didn't call him squire, did you?' 'I – I may have done.' 'Um.' 'There's more.' 'Surely not?' 'Yes, I said I could order it and he could come back next day.' 'That doesn't sound too bad,' said Twoflower, who alone of all the people in the multiverse allowed shops to order things for him and didn't object at all to paying quite large sums of money to reimburse the shopkeeper for the inconvenience of having a bit of stock in his store often for several hours. 'It was early closing day,' said the shopkeeper. 'Oh.' 'Yes, and I heard him rattling the doorhandle, I had this sign on the door, you know, it said something like “Closed even for the sale of Necromancer cigarettes,” anyway, I heard him banging and I laughed.' 'You laughed?' 'Yes. Like this. Hnufhnufhnufblort.' 'Probably not a wise thing to do,' said Twoflower, shaking his head. 'I know, I know. My father always said, he said, Do not peddle in the affairs of wizards . . . Anyway, I heard him shouting something about never closing again, and a lot of words I couldn't understand, and then the shop – the shop – the shop came alive.' 'And you've wandered like this ever since?' 'Yes. I suppose one day I might find the sorcerer and perhaps the thing he wanted will be in stock. Until then I must go from place to place —' 'That was a terrible thing to do,' said Twoflower. The shopkeeper wiped his nose on his apron. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Even so, he shouldn't have cursed you quite so badly,' Twoflower added. 'Oh. Yes, well.' The shopkeeper straightened his apron and made a brave little attempt to pull himself together. 'Anyway, this isn't getting you to Ankh-Morpork, is it?' 'Funny thing is,' said Twoflower, 'that I bought my Luggage in a shop like this, once. Another shop, I mean.' 'Oh yes, there's several of us,' said the shopkeeper, turning back to the table, 'that sorcerer was a very impatient man, I understand.' 'Endlessly roaming through the universe,' mused Twoflower. 'That's right. Mind you, there is a saving on the rates.' 'Rates?' 'Yes, they're—' the shopkeeper paused, and wrinkled his forehead. 'I can't quite remember, it was such a long time ago. Rates, rates —' 'Very large mice?' 'That's probably it.' 'Hold on – it's thinking about something,' said Cohen. Lackjaw looked up wearily. It had been quite nice, sitting here in the shade. He had just worked out that in trying to escape from a city of crazed madmen he had appeared to have allowed one mad man to give him his full attention. He wondered whether he would live to regret this. He earnestly hoped so. 'Oh yes, it's definitely thinking,' he said bitterly. 'Anyone can see that.' 'I think it's found them.' 'Oh, good.' 'Hold onto it.' 'Are you mad?' said Lackjaw. 'I know this thing, trust me. Anyway, would you rather be left with all these star people? They might be interested in having a talk with you.' Cohen sidled over to the Luggage, and then flung himself astride it. It took no notice. 'Hurry up,' he said. 'I think it's going to go.' Lackjaw shrugged, and climbed on gingerly behind Cohen. 'Oh?' he said, 'and how does it g —' Ankh-Morpork! Pearl of cities! This is not a completely accurate description, of course – it was not round and shiny – but even its worst enemies would agree that if you had to liken Ankh-Morpork to anything, then it might as well be a piece of rubbish covered with the diseased secretions of a dying mollusc. There have been bigger cities. There have been richer cities. There have certainly been prettier cities. But no city in the multiverse could rival Ankh-Morpork for its smell. The Ancient Ones, who know everything about all the universes and have smelt the smells of Calcutta and !Xrc —! and dauntocum Marsport, have agreed that even these fine examples of nasal poetry are mere limericks when set against the glory of the Ankh-Morpork smell. You can talk about ramps. You can talk about garlic. You can talk about France. Go on. But if you haven't smelled Ankh-Morpork on a hot day you haven't smelled anything. The citizens are proud of it. They carry chairs outside to enjoy it on a really good day. They puff out their cheeks and slap their chests and comment cheerfully on its little distinctive nuances. They have even put up a statue to it, to commemorate the time when the troops of a rival state tried to invade by stealth one dark night and managed to get to the top of the walls before, to their horror, their nose plugs gave out. Rich merchants who ave spent many years abroad sent back home for specially-stoppered and sealed bottles of the stuff, which brings tears to their eyes. It has that kind of effect. There is only really one way to describe the effect the smell of Ankh-Morpork has on the visiting nose, and that is by analogy. Take a tartan. Sprinkle it with confetti. Light it with strobe lights. Now take a chameleon. Put the chameleon on the tartan. Watch it closely. See? Which explains why, when the shop finally materialised in Ankh-Morpork, Rincewind sat bolt upright and said 'We're here,' Bethan went pale and Twoflower, who had no sense of smell, said, 'Really? How can you tell?' It had been a long afternoon. They had broken into realspace in a number of walls in a variety of cities because, according to the shopkeeper, the Disc's magical field was playing up and upsetting everything. All the cities were empty of most of their citizens and belonged to roaming gangs of crazed left-ear people. 'Where do they all come from?' said Twoflower, as they fled yet another mob. 'Inside every sane person there's a madman struggling to get out,' said the shopkeeper. 'That's what I've always thought. No one goes mad quicker than a totally sane person.' 'That doesn't make sense,' said Bethan, 'or if it makes sense, I don't like it.' . The star was bigger than the sun. There would be no night tonight. On the opposite horizon the Disc's own sunlet was doing its best to set normally, but the general effect of all that red light was to make the city, never particularly beautiful, look like something painted by a fanatical artist after a bad time on the shoe polish. But it was home. Rincewind peered up and down the mpty street and felt almost happy. At the back of his mind the Spell was kicking up a ruckus, but he ignored it. Maybe it was true that magic was getting weaker as the star got nearer, or perhaps he'd had the Spell in his head for so long he had built up some kind of psychic immunity, but he found he could resist it.