I go into record shops a lot — any record shop, anywhere, sometimes to buy records, sometimes just to browse, but frequently to indulge in other, less readily comprehensible activities, which have nothing to do with buying, or seeking things to buy, at all.

Very often I go into a record shop and look at records I already own. I actively seek out in the browser bins copies of albums which I already have and which I have no intention of buying again, and look at them. Normally I won't trouble to remove them from the rack or bin; I'll just flick to where they sit, open up a little viewing space and then pause, not really to think or anything, but as if seeking some kind of pointless confirmation: 'Yep, here's Scritti Politti's Cupid and Psyche 85. In front of the board saying Scritti Politti. In the S section.'

I don't find this behaviour easy to explain, though clearly there is wishfulness involved, that if only you didn't already have this record you would be able to buy it. Chiefly, though, I suspect it is descended from a piece of primary-school playground business wherein someone would skim through their bubblegum cards/football stickers or similar collectables while someone else stood at their shoulder announcing the relation of this collection to their own: 'Goddit. Goddit. Goddit. Haven't goddit. Goddit', etc. But in the playground, this performance at least served a practical purpose, as a prelude to swapping or some other form of trading, whereas any pop-fuelled adult version feels much more like the conduct of an addict, standing there in isolation at the browsers, reciting to himself a numb mantra: 'Goddit. Goddit. Goddit...'