This has not been written by the Turntable Guy, but by his audiophile version of the rugby wife. I can’t ignore that my position as significant other in the heart (and eyes) of the once-devoted Jacques has been usurped by his passion for turntables. “At least it’s not gambling or drinking”, you might say but that is cold comfort when my shapely limbs don’t compare to tone arms, my lounge is a workshop and the only time Turntable Guy ever takes me out is to find the right belt or spring, almost always in romantic spots like Stikland or Paarden Eiland.
In a parody of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Jacques has truly become Turntable Guy. His eyes light up when he spots a new project – a turntable that hums, is not running to speed, is ugly or just needs some TLC. I’ve given up count of the number of needy turntables that’s cluttered my house but has left with a new lease on life and a new owner. Even our cat is unhappy with Turntable Guy because he’s used some of her nine lives to rescue desperate turntables. After the incident in the washing machine, she’s down to only three.
Despite my gripes, I have made peace with playing fourth fiddle in Jacques’ life and wholeheartedly recommend that you contact him if you need a turntable (it’s a need and not a want), your turntable wants repairing or your turntable needs a makeover. He’s thorough and good, even though the time spent on your turntable means even less time spent with me. He always prices his services too cheaply so please add an extra R100-200 on anything you ask him to do if he quotes less than R500 and at least R500 for anything more than R2000. At least this way I get to eat the occasional steak.
Turntable Guy is also honest and won’t try to sell you anything unless you really need it (but will also struggle to tell you that there’s no hope for what you do own), so also call him if you need some advice or have buyer’s remorse.
If you do call him, please think of me and tell him to buy me flowers (not croissants) or drop the occasional compliment so that I’m not tempted to take a mallet to all his turntables. Sledgehammers are just so unladylike.