We’ve done it. We’ve joined the hipsters. Good joke when you think we were there the first time round. I’m sick of feeling envious of these Millennials coming into the pub with their brand new vinyl, which they then flash about and pop off to their mates on Instagram. Why shouldn’t us wrinklies join in?
So we signed up for it. After a quick peruse online, we went off to the city and spent a day browsing the Hi-Fi shops. You can spend a fortune on a deck, which is what they call them now, and I felt like the proverbial hick listening to the sales spiel about interfaces and negative bluetooth capacity. I don’t even know what bluetooth means; I ignore it on my digital radio and it doesn’t seem to make any difference to Ken Bruce. But my partner understands the mechanics, in fact he seems to enjoy the techie stuff at least as much as the music, so that’s all right then.
We ordered one and it arrived a couple days later. After he’d spent several hours trying to get it to work with our complicated home cinema equipment, the penny dropped and we could listen to our original old scratchy LPs; I refuse to call them vinyl, it makes me think of toilet paper, though I think that was Izal, remember scratchy Izal, back in the dark ages? Some things are best left behind.
So now I’m seeing and hearing a whole new side of my tech-lovin’ partner. I knew he’d been a bit of a punk, back in the day, but turns out he’s also a closet Black Sabbath fan, who knew? Makes my Gilbert O’Sullivan crush a bit tame, don’t you think? Still, I haven’t dug out Tull’s Thick as a Brick yet, that’ll show him.