it might be a trite thing to say, but music really does connect us all. no matter where I am in the world, chances are I will find myself in a record store, spending copious amounts of money on mammoth vinyl discs that I will not be able to fit into my suitcase, and will instead be awkwardly tucking them under my arm as hand luggage. but to be able to look back at that 45 of Jane Birkin and recall picking it up in Nuremberg and showing it off to my French counterpart in the group of journalists I was with, and then bonding with a Scotch poet over a love of Otis Redding and proudly noting that he is from my new hometown... well, that will be worth the strained fingers and bumbling.
then there is the thrill of buying a mixture of long loves and lush looking album covers by artists you have never heard of before. hence I end up with a combination of Beatles 45s and Joy Division albums, and some red, purple and blue uber-foreign appearing split featuring some smooth-looking chap called Oliver.
and the connections don't stop with the showing off of my finds. this discover leads to another visit to the record store, with recommendations to my Turkish colleague, who left with some Radio 4, Muse and International Noise Conspiracy. my work here is done.
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