But mine. And thereby hangs a tale.
I was power-drinking with my dipso and allround good guy brother-in-law in Montmartre one winter Saturday afternoon, the sort of dangerous time, when the shops are still open after chucking-out time, and musicians both, we fell on the idea of a little light window shopping in the Guitar Quarter. It was a runaway success of an idea to stop me buying another guitar by only looking at things with eight strings. Surely I wouldn't buy a hammered dulcimer, a bombarde or a harp. And then I saw it........
....... and I sat all through the posh dinner with the damn thing hidden under the table to keep it from the memsahib as long as possible. It came to light at Charles de Gaulle airport, but fortunately I had that nice Bonnie Tyler sitting next to me in Departures, which curbed a lot of the invective.
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