I'm on the Spectrum — and My First One Has a Tape Drive
How a Brazilian childhood clone, a Portuguese connection, and a slightly obsessive collecting strategy led me to the Sinclair ZX Spectrum +2.
There is something wonderfully absurd about starting a retrocomputer collection.
You spend years thinking about the machines that shaped computing history. You watch documentaries, read books, browse auction listings, and eventually decide: Right. I’m going to start collecting.
Then you look at the price of a TRS-80, a Commodore PET, or an Apple II.
And suddenly, your carefully considered collecting strategy becomes:
“Perhaps I should start with something that doesn’t require a second mortgage, a specialist shipping company, and a priest.”
That is more or less how I ended up with my first machine for Old Tech Geek: a Sinclair ZX Spectrum +2 128K.
And honestly? I couldn’t have asked for a better beginning.
A Spectrum, but not quite the one I grew up with
I grew up in Brazil, where my first real contact with the Spectrum family was through the TK90X.
At the time, I simply thought it was a Brazilian home computer. I had no idea that it was, essentially, a clone of the Sinclair ZX Spectrum.
That detail only became apparent much later, when I started looking back at the machines that had occupied my childhood.
And this is one of the reasons I love retrocomputing: you can spend decades with a machine and still discover that your understanding of it was only partially correct.
The TK90X was my introduction to the Spectrum world.
But the Sinclair ZX Spectrum +2 is the machine that eventually became part of my collection.
And yes, I am aware of the irony.
I spent my childhood with a Spectrum clone, then crossed an ocean to buy the original British family computer… only to choose the Amstrad-era version.
Purists, please remain seated.
Choosing where to begin
When I started thinking seriously about rebuilding a collection, I wanted to establish some kind of historical foundation.
The dream was obvious: begin with the machines that helped define the early personal-computer era.
The TRS-80.
The Commodore PET.
The Apple II.
The holy trinity of “this is where personal computing really started becoming a thing.”
But then reality entered the room.
Those machines are expensive. They are often large, heavy, fragile, and not exactly designed for a comfortable journey through modern parcel networks. And when you’re buying vintage hardware from another country, shipping isn’t merely a logistics problem. It is a small existential crisis.
Will it arrive? Will it work? Will the seller have packed it properly? Will I receive a computer, or an expensive box of 1970s archaeology?
I decided that, for a first acquisition, I wanted something historically important, relatively affordable, reasonably available, and — crucially — something I could actually use.
That last part matters.
Old Tech Geek isn’t intended to be a collection of expensive objects that sit silently on shelves. I want to experience these machines, test them, play with them, understand them, and document them.
Ideally, I also want to avoid spending half my life hunting down increasingly rare original software.
So the first machine needed to be a good balance between historical significance, practicality, and the possibility of actually having fun with it.
The Portugal connection
I’ve been living in Portugal for three years now, and one of the unexpected joys of it has been discovering how different the history of computing can be from the one I grew up with.
In Brazil, the Spectrum story is strongly connected to clones such as the TK90X.
In Portugal, however, the Sinclair Spectrum has its own fascinating history. The platform was popular, widely distributed, and became part of the country’s home-computing culture in a way that makes it particularly interesting to someone building a collection here.
And then there is Load ZX, the Spectrum museum in Cantanhede.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Load ZX were one of the largest Spectrum museums in the world. Even if we leave the superlatives aside, its existence is remarkable.
A museum dedicated to the Spectrum, in Portugal, suddenly made the machine feel much closer to home.
Not just a British computer from the 1980s.
A computer with a real connection to the place where I now live.
That was a surprisingly important part of the decision.
Why a +2 instead of a 48K?
The obvious choice for a collector might have been a classic rubber-key ZX Spectrum 48K.
It is the iconic one. The machine most people picture when they hear “ZX Spectrum.”
And I absolutely understand the appeal.
But I decided to go with the ZX Spectrum +2 128K, specifically the grey model.
Yes, I know.
Choosing an Amstrad-era Spectrum as your first Sinclair Spectrum can feel a little like choosing a later Volkswagen Beetle as your first classic Volkswagen.
But hear me out.
The +2 is a fascinating machine in its own right.
It was the first Spectrum released by Amstrad after its acquisition of Sinclair’s computer business, and it represents a significant evolution of the original design.
For me, the practical advantages were difficult to ignore:
- 128K of RAM, rather than 48K.
- A built-in cassette deck.
- A more substantial, integrated computer design.
- A dedicated joystick port.
- A much more convenient setup for actually using the machine.
- And, importantly, a healthy supply of units available on the second-hand market.
The original 48K has the iconic design.
The +2 has the iconic design plus a tape deck.
That is not a small thing when your goal is to use the computer.
I also find the +2 physically more appealing than I expected. It feels like a proper home computer: something designed to sit on a desk, connect to a television, and become the centre of a household’s entertainment.
It is less “tiny computer with a rubber keyboard” and more “1980s entertainment system that happens to run BASIC.”
And I like that.
The hunt was surprisingly manageable
Another factor was availability.
There are plenty of ZX Spectrum +2 units floating around on eBay, Vinted, OLX, and similar marketplaces.
That doesn’t mean every listing is good, of course. Vintage computers are still vintage computers. Condition, power supplies, cassette mechanisms, keyboard membranes, corrosion, and previous repairs all matter.
But compared with some of the other machines I had been considering, the +2 felt like a much more approachable first acquisition.
I didn’t need to hunt for months.
I didn’t need to pay a fortune.
And I didn’t need to convince myself that a machine with a broken cassette deck and no power supply was somehow a “great investment opportunity.”
Eventually, I found one in Portugal, in Lisbon, at a very good price.
And that was it.
The first machine of the Old Tech Geek collection was coming home.
My machine: Sinclair ZX Spectrum +2 128K
The machine I acquired is a Sinclair ZX Spectrum +2 128K:
Model: Z70700 Issue: .1 Region: PAL / European market
One detail I particularly like is that it has a sticker from a Portuguese company.
I don’t yet know the complete story behind that sticker, but it is exactly the sort of detail that makes a specific machine more interesting than a generic catalogue entry.
This isn’t simply “a ZX Spectrum +2.”
It is this particular ZX Spectrum +2, with its own journey through time, its own previous owner, and its own little traces of Portuguese computing history.
Unfortunately, it arrived without its original box or manual.
The box, however, was a problem I could solve.
I sourced a reproduction box from Retroboxes.
It isn’t the original packaging, of course, but it does a very good job of restoring the visual presence of the complete machine.
The manual is still on my list.
Because apparently, collecting retrocomputers also means collecting the paperwork that tells you how to operate a computer you already know how to operate.
I am not saying I need the manual.
I am saying I need the manual.
There is a difference.
The accessories: because a computer is never just a computer
The Spectrum itself is the centrepiece, but I wanted to make sure it could actually be used as part of the collection.
That meant acquiring a few essential accessories.
ArcadeR9 joystick
The ArcadeR9 joystick from RetroRadionics is a modern joystick designed for retro systems.
It is a small but important addition.
The Spectrum was designed around the joystick and keyboard as input devices, and a proper joystick makes the whole experience feel much more like the computer it was intended to be.
Also, I have absolutely no intention of playing Spectrum games with a modern gamepad if I can avoid it.
That would be like driving a classic Mini with a PlayStation controller.
Technically, perhaps possible.
Spiritually, unacceptable.
divMMC SinDiKat edition
The divMMC SinDiKat edition is the practical heart of the setup.
A divMMC is an SD-card interface for the Spectrum that allows software to be loaded from modern storage.
In other words: instead of relying exclusively on physical cassette tapes, I can load software from an SD card.
This is exactly the kind of solution I look for when acquiring a new platform.
My collecting philosophy is simple:
When I acquire a new platform, I want to find its equivalent of an EverDrive.
For the Spectrum, that means a divMMC.
It allows me to explore the software library, test games, and record videos without having to replace the entire original software collection with a pile of expensive tapes.
It also makes the machine much more practical for everyday use.
The original hardware remains the original hardware.
The software delivery method simply becomes less painful.
A beautiful arrangement, really.
Sintech RGB PRO SCART cable
And finally, the Sintech RGB PRO SCART cable.
Because apparently, owning a vintage computer isn’t enough.
I also need to connect it to the television in the living room.
The audacity.
The cable is intended to provide a proper RGB connection to a compatible display or scaler, which is particularly useful for getting a clean image from the Spectrum.
And yes, this is where my retrocomputing collection starts to intersect with my other hobby: trying to make old video hardware behave itself.
I have spent an unreasonable amount of time dealing with scalers, SCART, sync, RGB, firmware, and televisions that apparently believe anything made before 2005 is a personal insult.
So naturally, the Spectrum gets its own proper video cable.
Because if I’m going to play 1980s games, I want them to look like 1980s games.
Not like someone smeared them across the screen with a wet sponge.
A machine that feels like a beginning
The ZX Spectrum +2 was the first item in my collection, and I think that was a very good decision.
It isn’t the oldest computer I could have bought.
It isn’t the rarest.
It isn’t the most expensive.
And it certainly isn’t the most technically impressive.
But it is historically important, relatively accessible, practical to use, and deeply connected to my own childhood through the TK90X.
That combination is difficult to beat.
It also represents something I want Old Tech Geek to be about: not simply collecting machines, but reconnecting with the history of computing through actual hardware.
The Spectrum is a machine that invites you to do that.
You turn it on, connect it to a television, load a game — or type a BASIC program — and suddenly you are participating in the same experience that introduced millions of people to computing.
There is something wonderfully direct about it.
No operating-system updates.
No account creation.
No cloud subscription.
No “please wait while we optimise your experience.”
Just:
10 PRINT "HELLO, WORLD"
20 GOTO 10And perhaps a cassette deck making noises that suggest it is either loading a game or summoning a demon.
Which, honestly, is part of the charm.
The first entry in the GeekDex
In the Old Tech Geek collection, the +2 is more than just another machine.
It is the first entry.
The first platform acquired after deciding to rebuild a collection.
The first computer that made me stop thinking about what I should collect and start actually collecting.
And it is a fitting beginning.
A Brazilian childhood connection.
A British computer.
A Portuguese acquisition.
A modern SD interface.
A joystick.
A SCART cable.
And a reproduction box waiting to make the whole thing look like it belongs together.
Not bad for a first entry.
And now, of course, the inevitable question:
What am I going to load on it first?
Probably something simple.
Probably something iconic.
Probably something that will make me say:
“I remember this!”
And then spend three hours trying to get the cassette loading screen to work properly.
Because I am, after all, on the Spectrum.
And apparently, that is where I belong.