working in Newquay. One of my many jobs had been in a nightclub where I had been subjected to "dance" music, which was not quite my cup tea at the time. However, having heard the same songs over and over some of them lodged themselves in my subconscious and I found myself humming the odd disco hit. Upon returning home, I went into my local indie shop and asked for 'Amigo' by Black Slate, amongst others (I can't remember what they were now). Roger, the owner, who had sold me all manner of punk singles over the previous 3 years, looked at me as though I was quite mad. Either that or I'd just old him I was really an alien from the planet Zob.

He unleashed such a torrent of abuse it took me about two weeks before I had the nerve to show myself in that shop again.

Black Lace?!

About 1993, I suppose. The dreadlocked pissbucket in the Alice in Chains t-shirt gave me chapter and verse on its imagined shititude. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to remind him that he was wearing an Alice in Chains t-shirt.

A lovely LP with a story on each side - Windy Miller and Peter the Postman since you asked - with Brian Cant's lovely voice and Freddie Phillip's beautiful music. I bought this at the height of grunge from a bargain box at the back of a trendier than thou record shop. The sneer I got when I handed across my selection - and the 50p they wanted for it - from the grunge overlord behind the counter would have curdled milk

from Fedoraboy's Record & Tape Exchange .

I spent 6 weeks in traction, followed by 6 months psychotherapy and trauma counselling.

I'm OK now, apart from the involuntary facial twitch I get whenever Train In Vain comes on Radio 2.

In the early nineties I asked the miserable chap in Hot Wax, Edinburgh if he had anything by Henry Kaiser (the Richard Thompson connection since you ask).

He told me that they only sold "music".

I was speechless - without speech.

I ever bought* earned me a sneer from the owner of my local independent record shop.

I think I ground him down over the years. By the time he moved on, he could only manage resignation.

* can probably delete the word 'Marillion', to be honest.

...great record shops are great. Concepts in Durham was the best of the best: run by a lovely chap called Dave (he actually got a credit in our band's first EP for selling us so much great music), he was full of enthusiasm, could talk at length about almost every record he stocked, and was routinely undercut on price by the Our Price on Market Square, who also had a better location. He moved up the road, presumably for cheaper rent, and within a year he'd closed.

Bloody tragic. It would never have occured to Dave to give you shit for buying a record he didn't like. A rueful arch of the eyebrow or a gentle shrug at the absolute most.

I was looking for some new speakers back in the early '80s, when I was living in Sheffield.

Went to the highly recommended (by the hi-fi press) shop (name escapes me now, but it was down some steps in a basement somewhere) armed, as advised, with a couple of LPs with which to audition said speakers.

The hi-fi salesman (let's call him Barry from Championship Vinyl) took one look at my preferred album (Signing off by UB40, as it happens - lots of space and some nice bass lines) and said "what did you bring that rubbish along for?"

We then went through the auditioning phase, after which I expressed my preference for the Missions. "You only want those because the Hi-fi magazines told you so", he said. "These are the ones you want." referring to a set of (admittedly very nice-sounding) speakers made by another English company whose name escapes me. [EDIT: Just remembered - the company - now long-defunct i imagine - were called 'Environmental Sound']

I bought the ones he told me to.

I took the Harry Smith-curated box to the counter of the long-defunct Tower Records store in Glasgow. Yer man looked at it, and in particular the sticker bigging up said product, to wit "Gangsta Folk ! - Spin Magazine".

He looked up and sneered "What does that mean ? Drive-by shootings from tractors ?"

Virtually everything I bought from that crappy second-hand shop I mentioned earlier this week came with a free pithy comment from Ken, the proprietor.

This was all down to the fact that Ken simply hadn't a clue what these records were, as they weren't Meatloaf, Abba, or Stevie Nick era Fleetwood Mac.

the Record and Tape Exchange in Camden Town the staff would look at me as if I was standing in front of them with the word "cunt" painted on my forehead.

amnation.

I often got the worst responses for things I was selling. I remember one particularly traumatic incident in Cheapo Records (just off Shaftsbury Avenue), where the burly rocker behind the counter passed my cassette copy of “Love Over Gold” by Dire Straits around amongst his colleagues while laughing, before suggesting that I might need to pay him to take it off my hands.

When buying slightly less credible records I would always make sure that I purchased them in combination with something immensely trendy. Consequently I have loads of CDs that were massively popular in the mid nineties which no one would shake a stick at now….

managed to respond with 'don't mistake your lack of knowledge with any lack of taste on my part'. But ten minutes too late.

Record and Tape Exchange, althought it was the one in Notting Hill Gate with me. I got plenty of "I can see why you're getting rid of that" looks. Mind you in those days, I could console myself at the much missed Mandarin bookshop next door and then fish and chips at Geale's before it get tarted up. Never much cared for Tower Records In Piccadilly either which was invariably a late night night, slightly pissed stop. What a contrast to their branches in New York and San Francisco where the staff were brilliant and were never in the least bit sniffy, just interested in what you bought.

Was strange because the last time I bought something there, the young person behind the counter nodded approvingly and cheerfully told a passing colleague, who also complimented my choice. Don't they know the rules?

.....my "High Fidelity" record shop.

Bought the picture disc version of Toyah's "Anthem" - stop laughing at the back - the guy at the counter audibly tsk'd and said "you're only buying this because its a picture disc aren't you?"

I was a timid and confused 12 year old at the time so didn't profer a response but just handed over my big blue fiver that I'd saved from my birthday. Just as he was putting it in the bag, he said to me "Are you sure you don't want Sandinista by The Clash - it has three records for the same price??!" I politely declined and trundled out to get the bus home.

Ah, the innocence of youth. He was right, I was wrong. Can't think of the last time I listened to 'Thunder in the Mountains'. And it jumped!

I bought Die Antwoord's album at a shop in Cape Town and the girl at the till literally laughed in my face.

..that I had shop assistants begging to be my mate.

Back in the vinyl day (I know, you can still buy it, and some of you still love it, but you're just being cussedly, wonderfully retro, aren't you?), there was a particularly knowledgeable counter assistant at Our Price, in Walsall. Unlike some of the monsters described above, this guy would always happily discuss obscure bits of discography, give pointers to imports, and so forth - utterly invaluable in the pre-Internet era. When someone made a purchase of questionable taste, he restricted himself to an amused smirk and a raised eyebrow. I was indescribably happy the day I presented him with my purchases (Beefheart's "Ice-Cream For Crow", The Smiths' "The Queen Is Dead", and JAMC's "Psychocandy"), and he raised BOTH eyebrows and murmured "nice taste!".

I returned a copy of "Black Woman & Child" by Sizzla, ultra-hip reggae album which I'd bought after hearing Ian Brown go on and on about how great it was. Sadly it did nothing for my 20 year-old ears, so I swapped it for a copy of Pulp's "This Is Hardcore". That was the day I learned what true contempt looked like.

Back in my student days, I did gather my fair share of comparative pretensions, including the smoking of Camel cigarettes (which, in truth, even then weren't a particularly obscure brand) Visiting me Mum I went to the corner shop and was given a coruscatig five-minute tirade alog the lines of

'Camels? CAMELS? Camels is a animal, you daft twat. They divvunt come i a packet man. Oi, Barry, come and listun t' this un. He wants a camel in a packet..' ..etc

I wish I could say 30 years later that the place has improved, but in fact it's still the only place on Earth where ordering a pint of Guiness marks you out as a homosexual.

Sometimes it's the record shop whose taste can be derided - mocked in the much-missed Track Records in York for buying 'their worst album' (Primal Scream 'Give Out But Don't Give Up') - pointed out shop cred undermined by playing Alanis Morrisette over the shop PA. Whole other thread there, gruesome music inflicted on punters in misguided attempt to flog them rubbish. An inadvertent commercial version of Wyatting?

I first got into music it never really occurred to me that a record shop might not have the record I wanted. I learnt my lesson after hearing a song by Hagar the Womb on John Peel, striding into Discovery Records the next day and getting laughed out of the shop by the two girls serving.

A friend of mine when I was 16, would do anything for attention. Such was his desire to be noticed that he would go into a succession of record shops and ask for this euro-beat stomp-fest on 12 inch. This could have proved an expensive habit if any of the shops had stocked it (I think he eventually located a copy in Our Price in Islington)

to buy me 'Journey Through A Body' by Throbbing Gristle for Xmas in 1981.

Throb - what a word that is.

but it was in French and I have no idea what she said.

She was black. I just liked the track Zobi La Mouche (and still do).

in Hartlepool in the 70's, was run by, er, John, who was the nicest 60's hippy known to mankind and so nice you just couldn't have brought yourself to buy anything he didn't like.

...where the staff genuinely dislike the things they sell (the other odd places being pubs which sell real ale sold by people who've obviously never liked the stuff, and cigarette counters).

As a teenager, I used to buy certain things from independent shops and others from a chain, where the staff were (mostly) less bothered if you wanted to buy a Kylie 12" or a Now compilation to play at parties. These days, I generally by the populist stuff I like online and pick up the 'cooler' stuff from my local indie shops...

I once bought a Waterboys LP (Room to Roam) from Crash Records next to the university in Leeds and suffered such whithering scorn, I didn't ever return. Strange business model.

ensured I was sneered at by the Saturday staff in WH Smiths. "Here, this one wants "Running In The Family"" followed by air slap bass motion, a dismissive chuckle and shake of the head....... At least I think he was playing air slap bass , he could have just been calling me a wanker.

*Parts of this story may have been made up*

in Manchester set the bar I think for intimidation of record shop punters. The counter I recall as being absurdly high, causing neckache to accompany the dismissal of your enquiry / purchase.