I was paying my weekly visit to the local Oxfam record store (currently searching for Scott Walker and Lesley Duncan LPs) when I was distracted by the glass case in which they put their rare records. I saw one of my own collection there (the very first Fairport Convention record on Polydor released in 1968) selling at £74.99. I immediately texted my father who texted back saying he had paid the equivalent of £2 for it on a Paris market stall in the late 1970s. He also said I owed him £72.99 and so that is the last time I shall tell him the value of records he donated to me. However, I am beginning to wonder whether my home contents insurance is sufficient as I am sure he has given me other difficult to come by records and also whether I now have a sufficient pension fund on which to retire at 32. And yet, I would rather live in poverty than part with a single one of my vinyl collection (yes even Noele Gordon’s ‘After All These Years’). Records are the very fabric of my being upon which my emotional health depends. Sell them and I will have sold out not only my father but also the artists who have been my companions over the years. To me, that Fairport Convention record is worth far more than £74.99.