I had my first Record Player anxiety dream last night. I was on my way to the show, with a bunch of albums for the evening in a beautiful 1970’s mauve record case. As I walked down Northumberland Street I saw, coming towards me, a man in a hurry. The strange thing was, he was carrying an identical record case.
He clattered into me and we both tumbled to the ground.
It’s alright, I wasn’t hurt.
We picked ourselves up, dusted ourselves down, shook hands like gentlemen and continued on our separate ways.
There was a very lovely crowd of people in the Digital Lounge, which was very heartening, as they had all obviously booked their tickets early, they booked their tickets early, book your ticket now.
I welcomed everyone in and began my little introduction, a very witty, pithy and informative piece about The Dark Side Of The Moon. It was very well received and the audience clubbed together to buy me a bottle of wine to enjoy during the playback.
Then the nightmare began.
I opened my record case and pulled out, not the Pink Floyd classic, but Private Dancer by Tina Turner. Someone laughed. My stomach flipped. No Jacket Required by Phil Collins appeared next, followed by Men At Work, Adele, The Spice Girls, Savage Garden and Westlife. I had taken the wrong record case.
The gathered throng, once happy and welcoming, became restless and aggressive . A Latte flew out of the darkness, followed by some expensive crisps. I awoke screaming, my wife holding me down, soothing me with a gentle caress, a damp flannel calming my fever. As I drifted back to sleep, I reminded myself to put the albums in turquoise record case.
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