It's our party and the judge's decision is vinyl

On a hot (hopefully) Saturday night lurking ominously somewhere in the middle of next month, girlfriend Claire and I are throwing a bash at our well-belovéd Cafédefa.

This is because, by then, we will both be 50. In a sudden and possibly catastrophic burst of nostalgia, we decided to dig out our old vinyl albums, with a view to giving them an airing.

Actually, it was with some trepidation that I started to flick through a large pile of vintage record sleeves. Not only have my listening tastes moved on, but musically we all reached a state of arrested development when They abolished vinyl. Mind you, I understand it's been making a comeback ever since everyone decided that all digital recordings sound half dead and wholly similar.

I've dug out my copy of Deep Purple's Machine Head on account of it being the earliest album that I still possess. On the back of it is a small figure 5, marked in an early burst of teeny collecto-mania. I think I grew out of that by about number 11, which was probably something by Bob Dylan.

I still remember the disappeared other six of the first seven:

1) The Beatles: Oldies But Goldies
. . . flogged to my mate Andrew because he adored the Fabs.

2) Status Quo: On The Level
. . . flogged for being disgracefully unhip, also played to death when I only possessed two LPs. Being as the dear old Quo are still with us, I suppose today they'd be replacement hip.

3) Queen: A Night At The Opera
. . . flogged for being disgracefully pretentious. Also not enough Brian May in full rock mode; he's a great player.

4) Led Zeppelin: Physical Graffiti
. . . scratched the blasted thing when it was only two days old (five quid was a bloody fortune when I was 14 . . .). Replaced on CD as it remains a great album.

5) The Purps as previously mentioned. Being as I've pinched their cover for the pic, I ought to add that it's still brilliant . . . hope that's OK with you guys.

6) The Who: Tommy
. . . stolen. Can't imagine why as everyone I knew already had a copy. Perhaps I once knew a kleptomaniac who now has 23,684,525 vinyl copies of Tommy stacked up in his back bedroom? Did they sell that many? We did have a kid at school nicknamed Kleppie but he was more into laundering stolen pushbikes.

7) Wishbone Ash: There's The Rub
. . . disappeared. Still a mystery, and a shame because it's a lovely album and had to be replaced on CD. Fortunately I've still got the same band's immortal Argus, complete with wonderfully furry and gungey lo-fi mix.

I was worried that it was all going to be a bit samey as I was indeed an unrepentant bluesrocker in those days. This is not necessarily a bad thing. The first AC/DC Live? Turn it up to 11 and let's party . . .

Fortunately even back then I was showing vaguely danceable tendencies. There's the Motown 20th Anniversary Album, a double with loads of real blinders on it and (Thank you, Lord . . .) The Best of James Brown. So we will be able to bop after all.

Then there's my first reggae: Steel Pulse's Handsworth Revolution and Tribute to The Martyrs, also Ijahman's Haile I Hymn Chapter 1. This is not only notable for its gorgeous melodies. It was the only time I ever impressed anyone in a record shop by being cool enough to have heard of it. Being as I've only ever been cool about once in my life, I figure this must have been the moment . . .

These are classic furry and gungey albums. I never had the heart to buy them on CD; it wouldn't be right somehow. The same goes for live albums like Dr Feelgood: Stupidity and The Parkerilla by Graham Parker and The Rumour. This is ultimate furry and gungey. If your copy's too clean, place the naked vinyl on a gravel drive and run the car over it a few times until it sounds . . . just right. This will save you decades of spilt drinks and fag ash.

I'd also place the first Clash album in this category if some bastard hadn't nicked my copy. I bought it virtually new from a kid at school for two quid, thus marking another moment when I was accidently almost hip.

Like most skint kids of my generation, I was saved from buying too many duffers by sheer lack of cash. Thus I only have one archetype prog rock album, Genesis: The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, because it was two quid brand new at a car boot sale, just after vinyl albums were ruthlessly stripped from the unhallowed shelves of WH Smith in Stafford.

Trying to make the pennies go further is how we all discovered market stalls. It's also how I discovered Joan Armatrading. I was never much into the girlie singer-songwriter thing but I've always adored JA.

I note that my copy of her live is marked Promotional copy: Not for sale. Some corrupt journo flogging off his review copies down the market? Surely not . . . mind you, I was a trainee hack once and the pay was crap.

There are traces of a youth never as mis-spent as I would have liked: The Best of The Faces and Bad Company's Straight Shooter . . . the first Rolling Stones LP which I bought for $7 in Chicago . . . 10cc's Sheet Music, still a class pop album . . .

Best of Slade and T Rex . . . perhaps just mementos of a glam rock childhood but still great bouncing-off-the-walls music . . . as is The Pogues: Rum, Sodomy and the Lash . . . there's hope for the party yet.