#LookAtThisFuckingHipster. Does anyone remember that blog? It was snarky and pretty mean and I found myself laughing at people who were just being fun and enjoying their twenties like I was. Why? I guess it was all the rage. Anyway like I was ever one to talk. On my #transatlantic flight home on Thursday/Friday this was my carry on. A basket I bought at a #Frenchfleamarket at age 17. Yes. This basket is older than some folks I’m friends with. Stuffed with even older #records. My husband requested a record player from his parents for his wedding present (I get my own and I have no idea what to pick). We’ve had a lot of fun evenings listening to all his teenage records and thankfully we loved the same stuff. DJ Shadow, PJ Harvey, Mazzy Star, The Smiths (Morrissey please shut up forever thanks), Portishead, just your usual eclectic 90s mix. But we’ve played everything through and knew it was time to expand so I brought some records from home. A couple from my Dad’s collection which he was all too sweet to gift us (Paul Simon, Ella Fitzgerald) and all my own Joni Mitchell. Also stuffed inside the basket was a Marilyn Monroe coffee table book and an #EspritxOpeningceremony tote bag. True story: I was standing in line at Gatwick and my basket was hanging open with my records trying to escape and the person behind me exclaimed “you’ve got good taste in records”. And now we are friends on Facebook and it is a true #airport miracle. Because people are usually pretty shitty in airports.