In the then-current issue of the Rat Creek Press, I had a piece about my ’new’ hi-fi system. A wooden cabinet record player straight out of Don Draper’s appartment. I wrote about the experience of listening to records. The connections the records were building with my wife and I. With our whole family. The forced labour of getting up to flip the record and skip the skips. The intentionality of it all. The attention that listening to music once demanded. No shuffle. No stream-fed playlist.

People read that article. At least one of those readers really got what I was saying. We connected. He responded. He brought records to my house. In his words, we ‘B.S.’d a bit.’