City, Clubland, Theatre, Dockland, Empty House...

Looky Looky. 

There is just something about Vinyl isn't there? 

The feel, the smell, the memories - they come flooding back just by picking them up.

Ours have been alone, sad and unplayed for years, and would probably have remained so had we not bumped into someone at the Skip yard dumping hundreds, and I mean hundreds of albums.   

I was devastated.  

What was he throwing out?  

Years of those wasted, "teenage angst" years listening to plaintive, sad, tunes.   

Memories of that first kiss with the soppy song hidden at the back that you didn't want your friends to see.  

Songs that were played in the back ground of your first job.  

The songs that were played on Sunny afternoons at the swimming pool. 

The song that was playing at the first school disco, the song that played at the first "grown up" party.  

The sound track to your studying.  

The sound track to your youth. 

And then Santa plonks a USB Turntable under the tree, and I'm back there.  Am back, in my bedroom, slapping on the face, pulling on inappropriate attire (just like Tooli did the other night), and heading out with sounds pounding in my head.