ugly arrangement. The connections required were often baffling for a nontechnical generation, and, even if they managed to put the parts together successfully, they were rarely able to tune the television towards even a satisfactory sound and picture quality. Not only that, these computers were also bringing to the family home a whole new set of arguments. In addition to rows over which televisionshow the family would watch of an evening came disputes about when the kids could play Pac-Man without interfering with their parents’ favourite television show.
Sugar had noted this tendency and was determined that his product would be free of such problems. ‘There were lots of rejects coming back because of mismatches on products,’ he said of his rivals. Due to this confusion, he said, many computers were being not just returned to the shops, some of them were also being abandoned underneath customers’ beds, never to be used. ‘Our first computer was a very typical Amstrad concept,’ he said. ‘I decided that the Amstrad philosophy is an all-in-one piece, so we would present our product as complete with a keyboard, cassette mechanism and monitor.’
The other thing about the computer he dreamed of producing was of course its size. He quipped that his model would be far too big to be thrown under a bed, but of course there were other reasons as to why he thought big was beautiful. Putting himself in the place of a customer walking into his local Dixons store, Sugar said, ‘He looks at this thing, with its whacking great big keyboard and a monitor, and he has visions of a girl at Gatwick Airport where he checks himself in for his holidays. And he thinks, “That’s a real computer.” … So that was my marketing concept: the old man, who has got to fork out a couple of hundred quid on kit because the kid is driving him mad for a computer, sees this thing that actually looks like a real computer.’
As we shall see, throughout the design process, Sugar’s knack of understanding what makes the customer tick was vital in the creation of a winning product. At times, this would run counter to the more technical mindset of the team he assembled, but Sugar’s commercial instincts would, quite rightly, prevail. Although Sugar’s plans were very much focused on the ‘man on the street’, he also had a plan to give a nod to the business market. This was to prove to be the salvation of the entire project.
To get to the stage where Mark Eric-Jones would be sat in the Amstrad office wondering who Sugar was, the project had already taken many twists and turns. It was in August 1983 that Amstrad’s Bob Watkins pitched up at the headquarters of Ambit International, carrying a large cardboard box. He opened the box and showed Ambit’s Roland Perry a computer keyboard, with the Amstrad logo emblazoned on it. Watkins told Perry that Amstrad were attempting to design a new computer and that he wanted Perry to help them bring the project to completion. Sugar was a man in a hurry, not least because he had already been let down during his quest for the first Amstrad computer. Being new to this game, he had appointed a couple of engineers of his acquaintance to work on the software side of the project, while he and Watkins worked on the exterior design. However, the software designer suddenly left the project. When Watkins finally found the designer’s home and gained entry, he found a rather chaotic scene withcomputer parts strewn everywhere. He eventually discovered that the disappeared designer had cashed a cheque in the north of England. Accordingly, a running joke for the project was born: that the team could always ‘run off to the North’ if things got too bad.
Therefore, time was of the essence and Sugar was actually demanding that the project be completed within five months. Perry first tracked down one of the designers involved in the project so far. He recalls being met by ‘an oldish guy, bearded … and smoking a
Sugar had noted this tendency and was determined that his product would be free of such problems. ‘There were lots of rejects coming back because of mismatches on products,’ he said of his rivals. Due to this confusion, he said, many computers were being not just returned to the shops, some of them were also being abandoned underneath customers’ beds, never to be used. ‘Our first computer was a very typical Amstrad concept,’ he said. ‘I decided that the Amstrad philosophy is an all-in-one piece, so we would present our product as complete with a keyboard, cassette mechanism and monitor.’
The other thing about the computer he dreamed of producing was of course its size. He quipped that his model would be far too big to be thrown under a bed, but of course there were other reasons as to why he thought big was beautiful. Putting himself in the place of a customer walking into his local Dixons store, Sugar said, ‘He looks at this thing, with its whacking great big keyboard and a monitor, and he has visions of a girl at Gatwick Airport where he checks himself in for his holidays. And he thinks, “That’s a real computer.” … So that was my marketing concept: the old man, who has got to fork out a couple of hundred quid on kit because the kid is driving him mad for a computer, sees this thing that actually looks like a real computer.’
As we shall see, throughout the design process, Sugar’s knack of understanding what makes the customer tick was vital in the creation of a winning product. At times, this would run counter to the more technical mindset of the team he assembled, but Sugar’s commercial instincts would, quite rightly, prevail. Although Sugar’s plans were very much focused on the ‘man on the street’, he also had a plan to give a nod to the business market. This was to prove to be the salvation of the entire project.
To get to the stage where Mark Eric-Jones would be sat in the Amstrad office wondering who Sugar was, the project had already taken many twists and turns. It was in August 1983 that Amstrad’s Bob Watkins pitched up at the headquarters of Ambit International, carrying a large cardboard box. He opened the box and showed Ambit’s Roland Perry a computer keyboard, with the Amstrad logo emblazoned on it. Watkins told Perry that Amstrad were attempting to design a new computer and that he wanted Perry to help them bring the project to completion. Sugar was a man in a hurry, not least because he had already been let down during his quest for the first Amstrad computer. Being new to this game, he had appointed a couple of engineers of his acquaintance to work on the software side of the project, while he and Watkins worked on the exterior design. However, the software designer suddenly left the project. When Watkins finally found the designer’s home and gained entry, he found a rather chaotic scene withcomputer parts strewn everywhere. He eventually discovered that the disappeared designer had cashed a cheque in the north of England. Accordingly, a running joke for the project was born: that the team could always ‘run off to the North’ if things got too bad.
Therefore, time was of the essence and Sugar was actually demanding that the project be completed within five months. Perry first tracked down one of the designers involved in the project so far. He recalls being met by ‘an oldish guy, bearded … and smoking a
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