Blurb:

The fact that my relationship with turntables started with a free flexi disc on the cover of Oink magazine probably explains why it was my fourth decade before I started to grow my vinyl collection properly. Despite growing up going to the record library with my parents (where I learnt to move from cartoon theme songs and kids’ comedy records, onto the likes of Abba and Stevie Wonder), I only ever amassed enough of a collection that it could comfortably be contained within one box. The majority of the records were obtained from hanging out in a record shop in Lincoln, where me and all my mates worked (except that most of us didn’t officially work there). There are so many stories to tell about Radio City. Once, for example, we all pooled our money to help a customer buy all his records as he was a bit short of cash. I lost hours of my time and most of my limited finances on the first floor where the vinyl and my mates cohabited. I did, however, hone my tastes and explore countless genres.

I carried my box of vinyl around with me for a good 20 years without ever owning a record player. Until, that is, one fateful day in 2016 during the football World Cup. The pub we were watching the game in was too busy so we couldn’t see the screen. To fix the situation, we went to the nearest house that one of us lived at. Post-match, my friend started pulling his vinyl out and we lost hours. I was rekindling my love affair with the format I’d faithfully moved around various parts of the capital. This kickstarted a habit. So, this is the story of two record players and about 500 slabs of vinyl.