His Mistress’s Voice

One of the staple foods on the radio DJ chat menu is the  “Do you remember your first record?” item. ” Well, I do remember, but more importantly, I remember where I bought it. It was at the HMV shop. 

Sadly, the digital digit of fate has pointed at the HMV retail chain and they are no more. They join many other traditional shops removed to desktop trash bin icon land. The accountants push the permanently delete button and the plywood goes up at the windows ready for the fly posters, aerosolled gang tags and for some reason, huge felt tip penises. 

Last week-end I was in a branch of a national chain bookshop. From their stock and the amount of business going through their tills, my guess is that there’s a van load of plywood awaiting around the corner, along with the giant penis artist. Both in France and in the UK it’s a low time for the High Street.

Now here is an idea for some entrepreneur out there. How about pre-designed retail close-down plywood? Old Master landscapes or Rothko expressionisms- (they could be done live with a paint roller) could adorn the failed store-fronts. Commercial ads for insolvency specialists, ambulance chasers and pay day loan sharks could be sold by the administrators. Come on guys – this is the winner that could drag Britannia back to our rightful world place of ruling the waves. 

Anyway, all of this tosh sprung to my mind as I finished the audio recording of “Escape to Love”. To all other writers thinking of reading their own material, my advice is to work out how long it will take you and multiply by 47.5. (as a minimum). If you have a family to feed, get down to Walmart and stock up with ready meals so that the poor dears can micro wave their lonely dinners senza una donna. 

There were two distinct problems. One was sibilance. Yesss Ssssir, I’m a bit heavy on the Esssses. Various filters have solved the worst of it. The second problem was the Boris Johnson factor. The male character is posh upper class. Despite all my efforts, Boris superimposed himself in my mind each time the guy spoke. I’m not sure that’s what I had in mind as I wrote the story. The female is something of a London Gor blimey guv’nor girlie. No trouble there……

Thinking of HMV, I went up into the attic and dug out my family heirloom 78rpm records in order to get a photo. I wonder if my future inheritors will gather round great granny’s i pod. By then, all sensual inputs will be wired straight into their brains and lovemaking will be part of their file-share menu. Marriage will be a password exchange. I’m not sure if this is the future or the present. 

On the record sleeve was an ad for Mario Lanza singing I’ll walk with God. My parents loved this song and if you’re too young to have heard him, here is a link to a feast.

Emma thinx: If you hanker for the past, you’re in it.

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