Hang the DJ, hang the DJ!

I made a new friend recently who has a similar background of 1980s alternative/ student radio and thus we "shared" a lot of memories and experiences from different sides of the Tasman.

After a few drinks I mentioned I still had my turntable tucked away in the top cupboard in the study and so last night she came over with a bag of records under one arm, we opened some wine (and I, sad to say, dragged out my knitting - oh so rock and roll) and rediscovered some gems (and clunkers) from our past. While dressed appropriately, of course!

We stayed up far too late (not helped by the start of daylight saving) and had a ball. I think this will be the start of many such evenings as we barely scratched (hardy har) the surface of what we wanted to hear.

Now I have that lovely 80s feeling of I didn't get enough sleep and the house is in chaos because we rearranged the furniture to fit in the record crates and the mattress for her to sleep on plus there's a pile of dishes to be done so can I go back to bed now?

Luckily maturity has meant I don't have the And oooh my head hurts and the place stinks and who exactly is that passed out on the sofa? part of the experience. Instead I have the Wasn't that a lovely breakfast of fruit toast, yoghurt and fresh mango and strawberries outside under the tree? feeling (which is much better).

It was a good night.
(Listening to: Julian Cope, Saint Julian)