It is often the case that I am to be found in the shop late into the night. This is because I bloody love having a record shop. Hands down, it is the best thing I’ve ever done outside of marrying Liz and having kids. When I worked for Manchester City Council I had a very clear idea when I would be home. That was usually as soon as possible without drawing attention to myself. This is not the case with the shop. I’m bored with the kids now and my wife is having an affair with a premiership footballer. But what the hell? I’ve got a record shop.
My late evenings involve all sorts of activities. Cleaning records, sticking covers, restringing guitars, fiddling about with old bits of hifi. If I’m not doing that I’m pricing up LPs and 45s,re-displaying the window or putting out stock. Any combination of these things and others can be going on at the same time against the Sisyphean task of tidying the place up. Somewhere along the way I’ll probably eat a kebab. So far, so Greek
One evening recently my very oldest friend dropped by and we fell to talking about how one’s memory or experience informs the way one behaves or perceives the world in the here and now. We’d both had kebabs by that stage and hence become very philosophical.
The conversation set me to thinking and spurred me onto another new chapter of Retracing my Vinyl Footsteps. Like all the others, its rough and ready and (slightly) out of context. It’ll be better when I get the multi-million pound publishing deal.
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