Why does nostalgia have to hurt?

Even the good memories come with their pangs of pain. Perhaps especially the good ones.

I think it’s the out-of-the-blue reminder that life moves on, sometimes before we’re ready for it to.

There we were at the Mill Market in Daylesford, poking fun at the crotchety crockery, when I stubbed my toe on something leaning against a vintage dresser.

Note to fellow bric a bracers; thongs are not a suitable attire for the wilderness of once-were wonderful things.

Anyway, the world doth worketh in mysteriouth ways, because I reckon I was the only likely contender to recognise this box for the gold it actually was.

The Readers Digest Gold Collection, circa early 80s. A boxed set of eight records in near mint condition. $22.

“Oh my God, look at this!” In all the excitement I forgot about my throbbing toe and was transported back nearly 30 years to my family’s lounge room, burning up the brown tuft carpet with interpretive dance.

Mum had this very collection, taped off someone else’s records, and I wore the tapes out. Literally.

There’s been much boffin study done to research the effects music has on memory.

Music stimulates the brain. It has positive effects on Alzheimer’s sufferers. It triggers little pictures in our minds of other times. In an instant.

I bought those records, even though I didn’t own a record player.

Just reading the play lists on the back was enough to make me feel like a kid again. All shiny and carefree.

Then one of us bought home a turntable, God bless him.

So the holidays were spent swinging in a hammock, humming, popping in and out of op shops, old wares shops and scouring eBay for more record gold.

Forget Bendigo Mining, we were frantically digging down a dud path to no riches.

Bizarrely, it doesn’t matter where you look, all dusty boxes of random records everywhere contain the same albums, which are: Nana Masquri, Glen Campbell, Kamahl, Whirlitzer organ compilations, and 25 Polka Hits. No joke. I found this last album countless times around Bendigo.