OPINION
Last Saturday was shaping up as a really good day. The storm hadn’t hit; it was the end of the golden weather, a day in the sunshine that sort of resembled summer - summer itself in 2023 has barely resembled summer. I set the alarm for 7am and stepped catlike in socks around the house while my daughter slept the sleep of all sweet angels. I fed the cats, the tropical fish, the wild birds. There was a pale light in the sky, a weak sun. I got the essentials - Thermos of instant coffee, boxes of raisins - and slipped out the door.
Last Saturday was the Auckland Record Fair at Freemans Bay. Traders, collectors, experts, scholars, tragics, and men with beards gather to buy and sell records every year at the community centre; it’s one of about a dozen record fairs, held at Tauranga, Paekakariki, Te Awamutu, Wellington and other centres wanting to attract that species of music specialist known as the vinyl zombie. I spent about five years as a vinyl zombie in pursuit of New Zealand records for a book project. Oratia Books published my bestseller Cover Story: 100 beautiful, strange and frankly incredible NZ album covers at Christmas 2021. In all, I had collected about 600-700 LPs for the project. It was time to flog some of them.
Last Saturday’s event was masterminded by New Plymouth legend Brian Wafer. To say he was the man behind Sticky Filth ought to say it all. He helped take my three boxes of records to a table in front of the stage and left me to it, which is to say he left me to the sharks - as a first-time trader I had no real idea how to price the records, and I was immediately descended on by those who did. They bought up large. I got the feeling I had just been scalped but business is business, and anyway I wanted the records out of my life.
![Vinyl fans at a record fair. Photo / George Novak](https://www.nzherald.co.nz/resizer/v2/BEA4CCE25FBBLJDQLEUQ7MKWSM.jpg?auth=b7c80856c8bc50dd58cef13ccc1e051e9ddf6413fd3179dcaa8358d540144903&width=16&height=24&quality=70&smart=true)