A cold winter’s day in England; frost layering the ground even mid-morning. But I didn’t care, I was visiting Stonehenge for the first time and totally in thrall to the mystery of these most famous standing stones. I envied those who had visited them in the past, being able to walk between the towering neolithic arches and dance like druids in the dewy dawn. But even walking the perimeter was pretty special and it was with a satisfied air that I wandered back out through the car park.
In the back of a careworn Kombi sat a long-haired dude in leather pants, smoking a very large cigarette. I smiled and offered a kind of ‘hail fellow, well met’ nod; he removed the fumey roll from his extravagantly moustachioed mouth and offered me a puff. Well, what could I do?
Half an hour later, Derek—for that was how he introduced himself—asked whether I’d like to buy a rare vinyl postcard of Stonehenge. It wasn’t until much, much later that I discovered it was actually a curiously shaped record by some band called Spinal Tap who I’d never heard of.
Still, I’ve always kept it as a weird travel memento.
More on Spinal Tap here