Browsing idly in Fopp the other day I had one of those moments.
You know Fopp - the OAP-magnet of a shop on Shaftesbury Avenue in the west end of London, that sells lovely brand new CDs and DVDs at prices that even undercut Oxfam.
I say OAP because it often seems to be packed with grey hairs of my own vintage hoovering up all the Dylan and Stones and Clash and Jean Luc Godard they can afford with their redundancy money/pensions. Maybe there are Saga coach trips to Fopp?
Turning from the books (two for £5, including plenty of JG Ballards and W Brroughs and J Kerouacs) and the £3 CDs of 60s classics, I come face to face with a rack of what I still call LPs.
Of course, it is now really called vinyl but here in a rack was a set of a about a dozen records, all but two of which I had bought between 25 and 35 years ago and still have piled up under the bookshelves.
It just seemed odd that, in a few minutes in Fopp I could have bought all the records I bought over a year or two in the late 1970s. How I used to anguish over which to buy - because in those days, even with a job, it was a real treat to buy an LP. Often we would each buy different LPs and share them around for home taping.
No idea who is still buying Ry Cooder on vinyl, but it's always good to see it still has a market. Oddly, the vinyl versions are always two to three or even four times as expensive as the CDs.
Oh, and the most expensive of all here - Rumours at £30 - is one I do not own, and have often seen in charity shops for £1.