I was into music at a young age. I remember anticipating Radio 1’s Top 40 on a Sunday afternoon, my hand poised over the tape record button. Hitting record at the beginning of my favourite songs and cursing the DJ for talking too long over the intro. Buying and pouring over the lyric cards from the centre of the Top of the Pops magazine.
I got CD’s for my birthday and Christmas every year, without fail. Singles, albums, compilations. My first of the latter was Now That’s What I Call Music 36. I’d play my singles on the family PC to see if it came with a music video.
I would take my portable CD player with me on every trip. Laid out in the back of my parents’ car for 6 hours on the way to Scotland with my headphones in. BBC Radio 2 was on in the car, but on the back seat, it was Christina Aguilera’s Stripped album. Being perfectly mimed by a 13-year-old girl.
When the iPod was released, I was one of the lucky first in my school to have one. It was my pride and joy. I would load music I didn’t even like onto it, just so my friends could listen to their favourite songs at school. They’d have their own playlists and allocation times to borrow it on the single rule; don’t get it confiscated!