OR Tapes, an apologia. I've been indulging in behaviour which, in the mind of any sane observer, is highly likely to be symptomatic of a midlife crisis (you can have those at 36, right?). Some time back, my rational and sensible wife pointed out to me that I hadn't listened to a tape in years, and yet I had quite a lot of tapes. Meaningful comments were made about the space said tapes took up. Now. Obviously I don't want to bin them. I'm not a hoarder as such, but I do place an undue sentimental emphasis on some objects (cue cry of "So you ARE a hoarder"). In the case of my big box of tapes there is a memory or story attached to most. I can remember where pretty much all of them came from, gifts, bought, mysteriously acquired during my brother's short-lived shoplifting phase. Compilations I had a good long think about, weighing the importance of one track or another, compilations thoughtfully made for me. These tapes are kind of the stuff of life. But ...
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