In keeping with the spirit of this place a friend has loaned me a record player. My brother-in-law hand delivered some of my sister’s old records. The actual original vinyl we listened to as kids. Creases and marks on the covers that I remember well.
There is a significant amount of Bowie getting spun and dancing like nobody is watching because … they aren’t. And more tears, I’m not sure how many a human contains but I feel like I’m discovering the answer. There is something about music that transports your heart back in time.
As you can see – the music can be cranked, there is nobody to bother – except maybe Betsy the cow though she doesn’t seem to mind. This is my little cottage, taken from Betsy’s place, down by the river among the Poplars.