This was the sight a couple of Fridays ago, somewhere around 4am after 3 bottles of red (shared, natch) and many hours of spinning vinyl from JD’s very excellent collection. Aside from the warm familiar sounds of the scratches and dust, there is simply a better feeling to be had from slipping a record from its jacket and carefully placing the stylus on the correct track. It also serves as some sort of sobriety test, which was clearly ignored by both of us.
In any case I headed to Saturday’s Independent Record Store Day with renewed enthusiasm to expand my already pretty fabulous vinyl collection, armed thoughtfully with a shopping list. Alas, Polyester was pumping and filled to the brim with shoppers cooly (read: imperceptibly) grooving to the tunes supplied by the RRR Breakfasters, and when I did squeeze my way to the racks, none of my list were in stock. Egad!
With the money burning a hole in my pocket, I slipped across to Sheila Vintage to say a little hello to the hotness of Cindy and Emma, and departed Cinderella-style with a perfectly fitting pair of 1950s snakeskin heels.
Disappointment averted in record time.
