I've sneaked into the studio on this forgettable wet Monday, listeners, to play some quiet tunes to give us the background soundtrack to a life worth living. Nothing is happening and even less is making news of any note so all is well in the world: Barry the mechanic is in his rightful place under the 67 Kombi, the shortboards are sifting through the milk crates for great 78s, Alonzo the Latvian cleaner is still in the next door milk bar hoovering Chiko Roll crumbs and won't be here for a while, and the uranium-powered turntables are glowing with anticipation. So softly, softly we tiptoe as we lower the needle on the first one of the night...
