A Tribute to An Old Friend

The Lord Sinclair’s ZX Spectrum has been my first “real” computer, and the only one I really enjoyed. Now he (he, not “it”) proudly rests on a special place of my firm’s library, looking at his dumb heirs.

Its rubber keys, some worn and chipped, still carry the traces of countless hours of programming and gaming. The rainbow stripe on the corner is faded but unmistakable, a design detail that anchors the memory of early home computing.

Technically, the picture is a straightforward still life. The framing is tight, emphasising the object’s place among dictionaries and manuals, suggesting both its functional and cultural weight. The exposure is even, ensuring the black body of the machine does not collapse into shadow, while the shallow depth of field softens the surrounding books just enough to keep focus on the Spectrum itself. The imperfections on the case — scratches, peeling paint — are not distractions but evidence of use, turning wear into part of the composition.

The photograph is not nostalgic for its own sake. It is a quiet acknowledgment of how this small device bridged worlds: play and learning, curiosity and frustration, fantasy and logic. By placing it on a bookshelf rather than a desk, the image elevates the Spectrum from a tool of its time to a piece of cultural history, worthy of preservation alongside literature.