Sorting the loft - one of those cleansing rituals which looms larger as you get older - I came across my old LPs. It's half-a-lifetime since I last bought vinyl. Much of my best - including all my marvellous singles - has gone God knows where. But it was good to dust down old album covers, and connect to my younger self.
Good, but sort of unsettling. Did I really once listen to Stackridge and The Strawbs? Why did I spend scarce money buying expensive imports of Tom Rapp and the Quicksilver Messenger Service? Was this really me, or some self-parody, or a '70s cartoon character?
Also in the loft I discovered an old but still serviceable record deck. I've managed to plug it in to the audio sockets of the TV, and now I can play my crackly, warped, 33rpm discs through the TV stereo: Macdonald and Giles, the Grateful Dead, Melanie, Atomic Rooster.
But it's a bit like finding my old mandolin a few years ago. I was very excited, as was all the family. Until I started to play. It didn't live up to the billing. The mandolin is back in the loft. How long before I consign the LPs back to that black void where you put the bits of your past that you don't know what to do with?
Andrew Whitehead's blog
Welcome - read - comment - throw stones - pick up threads - and tell me how to do this better!