I picture two small basement rooms, back to back. A small door toward the front wall links them. Inside there is metal shelving that has begun to show the signs of age. Here legions of tapes have been lined up neatly. Each tape is marked with a white label and coloured ink dot. Grey filing cabinets fill the remainder of the space. The rooms are well lit; but with a deep yellow bulb, mindfully chosen so as to avoid premature fading of the precious contents. A subtle warm smell hangs in the air, reminiscent of a decades old book that has been thumbed by a thousand different hands.