iPhone photo a day — day eleven

I pre­tend I’m a DJ every once in a while, usu­ally when one of my DJ mates goes to the toi­let, but I have been known to play a few tunes (badly) by myself on occasion.

There’s noth­ing quite like the but­ter­flies in your stom­ach feel­ing as you watch the seconds tick down on the track that’s already play­ing, know­ing that if you don’t play the next one in time, or you play it too early res­ult­ing in some hor­rible sound clashes, 1000 drunk people will either point and laugh at you or they’ll riot.

Des­pite hav­ing more oppor­tun­it­ies to become a ‘proper’ DJ (i.e. one that works in clubs rather than one that sits in their bed­room mix­ing tracks for their ears only) than most, it’s some­thing I’ve never aspired to be. I often won­der why — it’s good money, it appeals to my night-owl tend­an­cies and it’s quite a ‘cool’ job. I think I’m just a cow­ard — no mat­ter how many times I’m faced with the “shall I play it now? now? Arrgh, I’ve missed it! Silence! Bug­ger!” situ­ation, it doesn’t get any easier. I just don’t think I can deal with the pres­sure. Or the punters for that matter.

Here’s the mix­ing desk I used last night to play my one and only track of the night last night dur­ing my bath­room break duty for the real DJ, Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon.