Vol 5 Issue 2

A personal view on the Salon de la Micro
Paris, October 26^th-29^th 1990 by Richard Karsmakers

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Why Parisian taxi drivers should never be trusted
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How to feel genuinely uncomfortable in Paris
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That what's caused by working on an AZERTY keyboard
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Six days out of a software promoter's diary

In the 'tax free' zone of Düsseldorf Airport, Germany, gate A71. If everything's alright, flight LH1772 to Paris will leave at 12:10 - with me on board. There, I will have to represent Thalion Software on the Ubisoft foreign label stand at the 1990 Salon de la Micro.

I already checked in my luggage, which consisted of a convenient bag with some clothes in it and a totally and utterly inconvenient suitcase filled with Thalion badges, demo disks, press releases and other assorted things I'll be needing in France. A little suitcase is here with me now, as hand luggage. So far, everything went extremely smoothly, except for the fact that I had to park in the 'short term' parking lot at the airport since the 'long term' ones were full and didn't show any signs of getting any emptier. This means that, once I get back at an estimated time of Monday 23:00, I will have to pay about 300 DM. Tough shit, but it still makes me feel a bit unwell.

In Hotel Alane, 72 Boulevard de Magenta, Paris 10e. A place that's within a two minutes' walk off Gare de L'Est (railway station east) and a "Quick" restaurant. I actually had a bite to eat at that very "Quick" a mere couple of minutes ago - one never guesses the things one has to go through to eat McDonald's-like food (especially when there's no McDonald's anywhere in sight).

At 12:45, the plane was airborne. We had experienced a delay of about 20 minutes due to "heavy traffic above Paris". Yeah, yeah. The plane, a 737, took about fifty minutes of flying before it landed in Paris, Charles de Gaulle Airport. Waiting for luggage to show up was the main slowing down factor, but fairly soon I could start dragging all my luggage towards the nearest cab (which was quite a bit far off my gate exit, actually). Except for a quarter of an hour's traffic queue, the Paris taxi went straight for La Villette, which is the name of the town part of Paris where the 1990 Salon de la Micro was to be held. Once there, however, the cabdriver turned out

1. Not to know the way quite precisely and

2. Not to speak a word of English.

As my French is appalling, it took ages before I actually got dropped at the Parc de la Villette. After paying 230 francs cab costs, seeing the cab drive away and asking a bit of info, I found out that I was at the wrong side of the Parc. A bit of rain made it all even more comfortable on my way to the other side of the Villette, which entailed walking over a rough-brick road that disabled me from using the wheels under the large suitcase.

But I got there: The Grande Halle de la Villette. The Ubisoft stand was easy to be found (it was fairly big, and next to the Sega stand which was the biggest of all). There I was met by Cecile (oh my God - I forgot her surname), who was doing a job at decorating the stand with posters and all that stuff. My contact person and organiser, an extremely cute and nice looking French girl by the name of Marie-Therese, was supposed to be arriving soon. In the mean time, I helped decorating the Thalion stand as well as that of Core Design that was at the same side. Boredom, however, soon struck. Marie-Therese arrived at about six in the evening, and after helping her a bit with various things I decided to head for the hotel. There was nothing left to be done by me. There were no computer systems, yet. I was assured that they would be there "first thing in the morning". The only other foreign guests that had arrived so far were Howard and Mungo (yes... Mungo Amyatt-Leir of Paradox game music 'fame') of Software Business. Just before I left, I found out that the stand telephone in the centre bit could handle international phone calls. Hearing the voice of my loved one at the other end of the line only made me feel dreary and lonely, however.

So now I am here in Paris. Almost exactly one year after a slightly divine long weekend with her here. Even the weather is the same: Lots of clouds with occasional showers. A 'grande lits' (twin bed) stands here. Useless without her. To make everything worse, I discovered that it's a lot better than the one we had then (but that, of course, was in another - cheaper - hotel). The window is slightly ajar so that I can hear the rumour of Paris traffic outside, which has something tranquillising about it. However, Kreator's "Coma of Souls" CD that is played on my Sony Discman, hasn't. I think I'll hit the sack soon. Marie-Therese said that Friday- and Saturday night will probably not leave space for lotsa sleep as Ubi will be organising various things to entertain the guests. Sleeping a lot tonight may therefore help, I guess. It also gives me a chance to read a bit in C.S. Lewis' "Cosmic Trilogy" that I've bought for the sole purpose of entertaining me while being here. The show will kick off tomorrow at 10:00, and will take up to Monday. Let's take a deep breath...

In Hotel Alane again, after two exceedingly draining days. Please allow me to tell you about some of the things that have happened.

On Friday morning, it turned out to be a bitch to find a cab that would take me from Gare de L'Est to the Salon. There were queues at the taxi stands and it was raining. There I was, looking slick in my colbert, tie, and Thalion badge. In the rain. But what the hell. The most important thing was that I had told Marie-Therese I would be at the show at nine, and it was already past nine before I had actually found a cab. And, although it couldn't have been more than about a three or four kilometres' distance off the gare, the taxi driver didn't know where it was - of course. He nearly dropped me off at the wrong end again, but now I was somewhat more alert and had him drive around the complex.

At 09:45, I had arrived. Ridiculous. My impression of French (especially Parisian) taxi drivers was getting less and less by the minute. Why the fuck can't they speak any languages other than that darned French? Bloody chauvinists. The computers that were promised weren't all there. So now I only had an STE, and no Amiga to show stuff to the journalists (Commodore France bailed out of a machine lending agreement in the last minute). You, dear reader, may consider this to be a blessing sent by whatever divine being, but it's work for me and I would have found it a bit better to have one of these machines, too. Too bad, actually. But life goes on, and now I just concentrated on presenting "Wings of Death" and (though a lot less) "Dragonflight". The day was slightly boring, though at times very rewarding. A couple of magazine reporters came to us and I did the standard software promotion on "A Prehistoric Tale" and "Enchanted Land" before letting them go away with a press release, a deafening feeling of our incredibility and some hot news about new Thalion merchandising involving a CD that's being made with Jochen Hippel. I was thoroughly surprised by the amount of people that just came to our stand to say "Thank you for Dragonflight" and such. It made me feel really warm and proud inside. Also, lots of people visited the stand that were coming to the ST NEWS International Christmas Coding Convention. ST Connection, for example. The Replicants (the fastest, best and biggest software pirates of the entire ST world) also visited me, just to tell that they hadn't cracked our most recent release "Wings of Death" because it was "so bloody good". The protection was shit, though, and they told me they really had troubles refraining themselves from cracking it because of that. Someone else, called Empire (mother fucker!!!) had cracked the game, however. I felt even more proud and warm inside when one of the Replicants told me that another Replicant had placed a fist in Empire's face because of the "Wings of Death" crack. Gosh.

All the other people at the Ubisoft stand for their foreign labels had now also arrived. Next to me was Richard Barclay of Core Design, demonstrating a new game called "Torvak the Warrior" and one called "Carve-Up" (or something like that). A very nice chap, actually, even though he told me he hadn't actually done anything on either of the "Rick Dangerous" programs. He did tell me that they were probably doing "Rick Dangerous III" soon... We both spent a part of the day admiring an incredibly beautiful French woman that appeared to be working in the "Videoshop" stand diagonally opposite us. My God. That was definitely the most beautiful French woman I have ever seen. Anyway. Some other people at the stand were Mungo and Howard (see yesterday), some French Lucasfilm guys, Eduardo and Pablo of the Spanish company Dinamic, Adrian and Mark Cale of System 3 (really entertaining people!), Jonathan Kemp of Electronic Zoo (which is called this only because people remember it, and for no other reason than that), some Anco people (who I never actually got to meet - in spite of the fact that they were female), Darren and Cathy (the notorious Mirrorsoft promoters), someone of Millenium (an awfully nice chap whose name I never got to know), and two people of Magic Bytes (Sandra and someone whose name I forgot). The latter is actually competition of Thalion, but at shows like this everybody seems to forget that.

The show was over at 19:00, and about half an hour later I retreated back to the hotel. Finding a cab to the pub St. Germain de Pres, a place near Notre Dame where we could go to from 21:00 on, was a bit difficult, too. Hellishly difficult, actually. But I did find one and I did get there. In spite of the fact that I arrived a bit too late, I was one of the first there. Bearing witness to their notorious name, Darren and Cathy were already there drinking various alcoholic beverages. A good thing, because they were actually the ones I knew best from all people present (I met Darren during the ST NEWS England quest more than a year ago, and Darren and Cathy were also present at the 1989 Amiga Show in Cologne that I was at with Thalion). At about half past ten, everybody had now arrived and our bit of the pub was very crowded, we all headed for taxis again on the move to a cabaret called "La Belle Epoque" somewhere else in Paris. At 22:45 we got admitted there. We must have been about 25 people (that's most foreign people as well as many French of the Ubisoft 'home label' stand). At "La Belle Epoque", we got offered a dinner with cabaret. The dinner was probably frightfully expensive and therefore supplied in extremely meagre quantities. It tasted OK, though. The cabaret was very entertaining. A black entertainer, who had tried to find out some things about the people present before, now sang and cracked jokes. It is impossible to bring over the feeling of that in writing, but it was just very funny and (as I said before) entertaining. Soon, we were all singing together, waving, and doing all kinds of things we would normally never have done. This guy was very capable. Apart from the fact that he was very witty, he also spoke French, Italian, Spanish, English, German and (I believe) a bit of Chinese. Incredible. Apart from this bit of entertainment, there was also quite a bit going on on the stage. At times, the entertainer would take a rest and the stage would be occupied by seven nice girls dancing, or a whip-and-pistol act, a puppet act, and a magician act. The girls were best (and not only because they happened to be topless most of the time), and the puppet act was OK, too. The whip-and-pistol act was pathetic, however. Some kind of macho dude played a bit with ropes, whip-split a cigarette at a distance, and shot a rose out of a girl's hand (he missed the first time...). Trash. The magician was even worse. He was very bad at concealing the hand that one was supposed not to look at, and the lighting failed to conceal a fair bit of ropes and threads hanging everywhere. In general, however, the cabaret was OK.

The best bit of the evening, however, was the bit where one of the chorus girls took one of us on stage: Pablo of Dinamic. She probably picked him because he looks very macho and (although I do not pretend to be a star at judging this) good looking. She took off his tie, and then disappeared with him behind a large white sheet obstructing view. Soon, we all knew what it was all about: On our side of the sheet, we got a projection of Pablo sitting on a stool, obviously made by a camera hanging slightly above and before him. He was sitting there, not knowing what would happen, and didn't know we could see him. Then the girl came in, starting to undress him at the top. We all saw this and he didn't know shit. A broad grin came on his face when the girl signalled him to undress her now. Pablo did this very well, although she kept on running to and fro like a damsel in distress when he was trying to undo her bra. This was hilariously funny, and everybody in the cabaret hall (except for Pablo) was laughing their heads off. At last they appeared in front of the sheet again. She took off the last piece of underwear she was wearing and stuffed it into his pocket (don't worry...she had another piece of underwear under it). Pablo, his face red with embarrassment, was escorted back to his chair. Eduardo immediately started talking in Spanish, laughing his head off, and mimicking Pablo like he did when trying to take off that bra.

The end of the dinner was now there. Another member of the audience was called on the stage, an Austrian. He was to be taken to a guillotine (a fake one, lucky for him). Reason enough for more laughter. After the cabaret, most people vanished but almost all Ubisoft people stayed. We chatted about various things (though mostly about 'the biz', which tends to happen when you're around software marketing and promotion people). Jonathan Kemp tried to go to the loo 'through that door', which turned out to be the kitchen. This turned out to give an unsuspected turn to the conversation to less software-related topics (mostly involving sex and/or sexual organs). Yes, software people are also human. Nice thought.

It was almost half past two at night when I decided that, since I had to get up early next day (the show would start at 09:00 on Saturday), I had better go and find a cab again. And then I did something that doesn't only prove that software people are human, but that they can also be extremely stupid. A taxi stopped and I stepped in. He told me I would not have to pay, but instead I would have to buy him a drink in a bar. That was all. Being Dutch, I thought "nice, this will cost less" and we were on our way. I would buy the guy a drink in a bar, wait until he was finished, and then head for the hotel. The fact that he started to say that it was a "correct bar", "without professional girls" and "without entrance fee" made the first doubts raise in my tired brain coils. Why would he mention this if the bar was really legitimate? These doubts raised to adrenaline-provoking heights when he said it was "normal to buy one of the girls a drink there". Holy shit. How could I talk myself out of this? Since I wasn't the kind of heroic type to jump out of driving cabs, and since his English and my French didn't suffice for some discussing, I decided to wait what would happen and then act. Was it some kind of bar where frustrated girls were in search for a man? That's what I thought, but a nagging feeling was already convincing me that this wasn't going to be it.

Well. The bar was located in a somewhat dark alley near the Arc de Triomphe - "Club 16" it was called. I tried to convince the cab driver that "I had discovered not to have lotsa time" and all that stuff, but he told me that it was to be no problem and that "things wouldn't take long". Since a couple of thugs happened to be standing nearby, partly concealed in the darkness of the alley, I decided not to run or something like that. We went in. I have been told that prostitutes can look like any other girl, but I can assure you that they don't. They have this kind of air about them that, excuse my language, makes dicks remain very soft (at least mine). I looked around, seeing business men sitting in deep sofas. Most of them were accompanied by girls that looked distinctly tarty. The bar was, except for us, populated by two girls. The lights were dim (though not red or anything), and a thick cloud of smoke hung throughout the place. "I will pay our drinks," the cab driver now said, "and you pay one of the girls a drink like I told you." How the fuck was I going to talk my way out of this shit? So we got a Coke (the bubbly brown stuff) and a beer (Heineken). I bought a drink for the girl sitting to my left. She had very light blond hair, as short as that of Eurythmics' Annie Lennox. She wasn't particularly ugly and she had a very sweet voice. I drained my Coke, trying to think of something. "Are you from Holland? Amsterdam is a nice town." That was what the girl said. Her English was very limited. Actually, the only other thing she said was "You can use a girl here for a bottle of champagne." Not professional, eh? I cursed at my own stupidity and my lack of French. That blasted cab driver! Where was he, by the way? He was gone. The mother fucker. I explained the girl I wasn't interested, because I had to get up early next day and I really wasn't in the mood. I hastened to add that it wasn't because of her. No, she looked nice and all that stuff. I didn't mention the fact that I actually have a girlfriend, because I knew that the things she would then say would cause me to kick her ass - which would most likely get me into some deep problems involving my physical health.

Carefully, I asked for the bill. I anticipated at least a 100 francs or something. My surprise was therefore enormous when I read 490 francs on the small piece of paper. That's about 150 Dutch guilders! Now I really realised I was in deep shit. Very deep. It may not have been shit of the deepest conceivable kind, but it would have been damn hard to conceive anything deeper than this. Like hell was I going to pay this, but how was I going to explain that I was lured into this by a crooked taxi driver? How was I going to explain that the taxi driver was supposed to pay for two of the three drinks? The taxi driver was probably paid for this 'fish' already, and on their side too. A sturdy looking bouncer loomed up behind me shortly after I told the bartender I couldn't possible pay this much money. I stuffed one 100 franc note in my pocket, careful not to have this seen by anyone. The bouncer, who had some rings on his fingers that would no doubt leave eternal scars on my face if he wanted, thought long. The fact that his English wasn't much didn't help the matter. "How much money do you have?" he muttered. "About 100 or 200 francs, I guess" I replied, getting to feel slightly scared. I tried to wake up. This must be a bad dream or something. This doesn't happen in real life. This only happens in movies. And this only happens to extremely stupid persons. I noticed I couldn't wake up, and looked at the bouncer's rings. "Show me," he said with a kind of threatening voice. I showed him my wallet. It turned out to contain 300 francs and 6 pound Sterling. I had to give 'em all. That was still well over 110 Dutch guilders. A tough lesson - and an expensive one! I was now allowed to leave the premises, and I even forgot to take the bill with me (which would have been an expensive souvenir, but a souvenir nonetheless).

Back on the main road again, I took another cab. This time, the guy looked definitely more trustworthy and he indeed brought me to my hotel without any unnecessary diversions to places of ill repute. Good thing I had that 100 franc note still, so I could at least pay him! The hotel, of course, was closed. It was four in the morning, and I had to ring to get in (which made me feel guilty because of that poor man that had to get up for me). I didn't sleep well.

At eight I woke up spontaneously, so I decided I'd better be heading for the show again. It was weekend now, and finding a taxi was now much easier so that I arrived at the salon at a quarter to nine. Today, I knew, was going to be a lot busier - and so would tomorrow. I had therefore left my tie in the hotel and was somewhat more casually dressed. Today, lots of people came to me with games that they had written themselves, for potential marketing by Thalion. Even though many of these looked like souped-up demos, I still think eventually Thalion will be marketing some of them. Even more freaks visited me. Overlanders, DMA, Replicants, ST Connection (again), French Alliance, NEXT and lots of other groups whose names I unfortunately forgot. Most of them will be coming to the ST NEWS International Christmas Coding Convention (except for the Replicants of course, who are active crackers and thus not allowed in), by the way. Most of the time I could not refrain myself from yawning. I left at half past six. I had had enough. I couldn't stand upright any more. For tonight, Ubi has arranged dinner in a restaurant called "La Colombe". God knows where that is. Let's hope that, if God doesn't know, at least the cab driver does.

Tonight hasn't exactly been perfect, either. "Yeah, of course I know where La Colombe is," the cabbie said (in French). He drove me to the other side of the Seine, looking over a beautiful Notre Dame bathing in the yellow beams of many spotlights. "It's just around the corner of that hotel," he said when he halted there. I was completely happy. Finally I had been brought directly to a destination where I wanted to be - without any detours. I gave him a nice tip. Rue Colombe, that's where the restaurant was. But where the hell was Rue Colombe? I already cursed the cabbie again when I found out that it was at the other side of the Seine, on the island of the Notre Dame ('somewhere'). It was 20:15 when the cab dropped me off, and barely at 21:00 had I found the restaurant (due to two helpful German tourists with a map). I had never thought I would ever bless Germans, but I did. It took about another hour before finally all people who said they'd come were actually there. Then we started to have an excellent meal, that was also quite a lot more plentiful. Adrian Cale and Howard cracked the dirtiest jokes I've ever heard, and I wish I would have written them down immediately for now I have forgotten them (whereas they were brilliant).

Dinner was in us at about one, and then started the 'not exactly perfect' part of the night. Some of the others would be going to a club to dance, but as I dreaded the thought of once again having to find a taxi early in the morning, I decided to pass. It was raining (of course). The people at the restaurant told me that I was likely to find a cab at the bridge, which was at 60 feet walking. No problem. I saw many cabs, but they were either filled with people already, or an omnipotent sign of a cabbie's hand told me that they were off duty (or that they just hated people who needed a cab). Well, I was likely to find a cab somewhere along the line, wasn't I? I knew approximately in which direction to walk, and so I simply followed the traffic signs to "Gare de L'Est". Many cabs came past, and they were all filled or off duty. "Why me?" I wondered often. As it was raining, my soles (leather ones) were getting soaked through, and getting extremely slippery. Since the Parisian pavements are covered with a peculiar kind of road covering (no tiles or something), the entire way was just like walking on ice - just not quite slippery enough to skate all the time. It started to rain down a bit heavier. It grew continually more slippery (yet never quite slippery enough to allow me to skate comfortably). My feet were soaked. I was soaked. I was getting pretty pissed off, too. I had no clue at the distance between the Notre Dame and Gare de L'Est, so it's easy to imagine me: Cursing and muttering through the rain, almost dropping flat on my face dozens of times. Actually, due to 'past experiences', I was continually afraid to be mugged, robbed, or raped by a rampant prostitute, too. I had the feeling I was walking for hours when I suddenly saw a railway station loom up before me. As I thought I had been walking north all the time, I was feeling very wretched. This was probably "Gare du Nord" or something. Yet it turned out to be L'Est. I felt happy in a strangely intense way as I walked into the hotel that turned out to be nearer than I had so far expected. Lucky enough, the hotel manager had not yet gone to sleep, so I didn't even need to wake up anyone. So I just came in. What a crap town Paris is when being on your own or when being there at night. I will never go out in Paris at night again! But now I really need some sleep.

Back in the hotel, after a day that's made me very tired again. Today, however, was entirely nice and didn't have any nasty surprises up its sleeve. I am now just genuinely tired, and I am glad that I'm not expected to go somewhere this evening. I heard that some of the more fanatic ones will be going to some kind of club to dance again, but I just told 'em to count me out.

At 09:15, I showed up at the show. Many people visited the stand again, of which a remarkable lot had finished (or almost finished) games to show. All the freaks I met yesterday came by again, too. Unfortunately, during a non-attended moment, the data disk of "Wings of Death" got nicked. This was kinda shit because of two reasons:

1. Ubisoft had plenty of Amiga copies of "Wings of Death" but none ST - and I only had an ST, and

2. It was my private copy that I had brought from Germany!

I told a couple of the freaks, and soon many other freaks came along. They were all angry and surprised that "someone would steal a Thalion disk". The 'news' had gone 'round like a walking fire. My God. Incredible. There was this warm feeling of pride again. Apparently, it was OK to steal a Sytem 3 disk or something, but stealing a Thalion disk was definitely out of the question even to the hacker's point of view. Someone even gave me his copy of "Wings of Death" so that I could continue demonstrating it. Amazing. So the French aren't that bad after all - as long as they use computers instead of taxis!

The Overlanders visited me at the end of the show again, and after a little party with champagne that the Ubisoft people threw at 19:00, I left for a nearby "Quick" restaurant for a bite to eat with this wholly remarkable French coding group (eight members were there, as the ninth was in hospital). This meal with the Overlanders was actually very cosy. Dogue de Mauve (this means 'Purple Mastiff' I discovered) looks a bit like Frøystein the Nutty Norwegian, and that made me feel as if I already knew him for a very long time (whereas I didn't). We chatted a lot, especially about ST affairs and the upcoming ST NEWS International Christmas Coding Convention. I had heard lots of bad things about the Overlanders but if you ask me, all of this is a lie. They are very nice people (thanks for the Coke at the show, Dogue!). I am looking forward to seeing them again at the convention. After this junkfood meal, we all took the subway. They had to go in the same direction as me, so they shared my ride. I really felt sorry when we had to say goodbye at Gare de L'Est, as they could'nt come any more tomorrow. But one can't have everything, can one?

Extremely tired again, and located in Satellite 6's boarding zone at Charles de Gaulle Airport, waiting for the 20:45 flight back to Düsseldorf. I am here a bit too early. I know, and I already heard that the flight will be 'somewhat delayed'. At least I now have the chance to read a bit more of the "Cosmic Trilogy". It has been raining all day, and maybe that was one of the reasons why the show was a lot quieter today. All the freaks had gone, too. A total power failure of the entire city part La Villette stirred up things a bit this morning, but that was alleviated after less than half an hour. Looking back upon the last couple of days, I think it's fair to assume that they were 'interesting', whereas I have, let's say, 'learned' a lot. Now there's only the parking bill to look forward to.

In my room in Gütersloh, Germany. The flight had half an hour's delay or something like that, but the main delay resulted from my car. As I was proud of stating in ST NEWS Volume 5 Issue 1, I own a silver-metallic Peugeot 205 GTI 1.9. A very nice car, presuming that it actually gets moving in the first place. It tends to have starting problems, and I can do whatever I want (including having it repaired dozens of times): It will continue having these fits at the most unlikely (and, indeed, unwanted) moments. Thus happened tonight. The thing just wouldn't start. It was about 22:45. I waited. Started again. Nothing. I waited. Started again. Nothing. I started a lot of times, thus nearly draining the battery. I decided to ask the parking lot attendant to phone the ADAC (the German equivalent of the Dutch ANWB or the English AA). He directed me to a phone booth. I checked the telephone book. The pages in Düsseldorf with AD.. were torn out. I asked the number at the parking attendant's. He gave it to me. I walked back to the telephone booth, after trying my car again. It still wouldn't work, and neither did the phone booth. Was there some kind of conspiracy against me, ordered by powers from above or something? It was almost midnight and I had already given up hope. This was going to be a night in my car, and the parking bill would be even higher tomorrow morning - if I would get my car to move at all. Then I got the simple idea to have two people who happened to walk by push the car a bit. It suddenly worked. Vrooomm it went. It felt as if a load weighing as much as a ton of bricks fell of my shoulders. I nearly cried with positive emotions, will you believe that? The parking bill turned out to be 100 DM - they never seem to charge more. So that was at least a bit of luck for me. Further, there were no mysterious traffic queues or special transports so that I could head for home as quickly as possible without any further delays.

Editorial note: This is the end of the story, but not the end of the author nor the problems he has with his car! Please assist him in the begetting of another means of transportation (as well as for compensating the costs of certain lessons in life he's had) and send miscellaneous donations to giro account number 5060326 of Richard Karsmakers, Utrecht, Holland. Cash is also welcome at the correspondence address, specified to his name. I would like to thank you on behalf of him.

This text was published in the Atari ST diskmag "ST News" and is used by kind permission of Richard Karsmakers. Source for this article: http://www.st-news.com