Running an eye across my collection is like flicking through a shoebox full of love letters
It’s the audible smirk that gets you as the tour of your new digs reaches the spare room. “Still got your CDs, I see,” they quip, glancing knowingly at the other guests. “When are you going to just throw them out, Swales?” another always asks.
The arguments for the defence are myriad: many classic turn-of-the-century DJ mixes aren’t available digitally; loading up the car’s multi-disc CD player with themed selections (or an eyes-closed lucky dip) is fun; I feel a pang of guilt every time I discard the plastic wrapper from a chocolate bar and am not emotionally prepared for the burden of committing all those shiny discs and jewel tray cases to landfill. (Yes, technically they’re recyclable. But the only thing you can count on being recycled in Australia is headlines about recycling failures.)
