44 years ago this week I walked down the hill to the small group of shops in the village we lived in.
Amongst the Woolie’s, Boots and small, local independent shops was an electrical store, a shop that sold fridges, washing machines and records.
Behind the record counter were the two most contrary, intimidating characters you could ever not wish to meet.
I took the album out of the rack.
I queued and, to my horror, the string-bean with the long, greasy hair became free first.
I handed him my intended purchase.
He looked at it, looked up at me, and looked down at the album again.
“Ladies & Gentlemen, Finally, we have have someone with taste.”
He winked at me.
“Finally, we have someone with taste.”
“Every one of you still shopping, you better bring an album this good up to the counter. If not, why would you bother?
It remains my proudest moment.