
On a serene Sunday evening, I find myself ensconced within my teenage sanctuary, where a melancholic sweetness lingers. The Top 40 plays, but before Tommy Vance’s voice fills the room, I hasten to press pause, yearning for my personal favorites. I swiftly gather these treasured tunes and carefully assemble them onto a C90 cassette tape. The act of snapping off the plastic tabs brings a sense of permanence and accomplishment. However, upon realizing that I’ve truncated the final tune, I have to painstakingly start the process anew, sealing each segment with a piece of sellotape.