I DON'T WANT TO GO TO GREENFORD

But I did anyway. Since the closing of the charity shop with the giant basement I have been reluctant to trawl through the unwanted detritus of Greenford. It's not a prepossessing place consisting as it does of little more than a tip and a busy crossroads; with the A40 obligingly placed within puking distance for rapid exit. The first charity shop has a vigorous stench, a sort of soaked-through old carpet odour. Poor old Penny McLean, her LP has been brutalized by some clumsy brute and appears quite unplayable. Soon though a BMX Bandits 12" is found and Greenford is pleading with me for redemption. A vast collection of horrific rock records reveal their mucky faces to me in the Cancer Research. I scuttle away. Fara delivers three CD LP's at a bargain £1: Little Ones : Sing Song; a Kill Rock Stars compilation called Mollie's Mix; Pram : Sargasso Sea. The strangest encounter was with 50 or so 78's that appear to have never been kissed by a stylus. They all came from the one shop, long since extinct, somewhere on the Uxbridge Road. The majority of them are all the same song except for Cocktails For Two by, um, I forget. My hapless memeory.