I'm not sure how many guitars a man has to buy before he needs to acknowledge he has a problem. Perhaps once he has more guitars than his wife has shoes?
So I was briefly concerned, but then the day after my latest was delivered, the doorbell rang again (an obsolete thing in itself, Jack had already told me somebody was coming up the drive) and the DPD guy handed over another package, this one addressed to my wife. Through the packaging I could distinctly feel the soles of a new pair of boots.
Anyway, I have a new guitar. A PRS SE Paul's Guitar, and she's very, very pretty. An American guitar company, but this one was manufactured under licence for them in Indonesia. Which makes her better travelled than I am, as she was built in South East Asia, then shipped to the States to be put through the company's quality control at their factory on the edge of the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland, and then shipped on to the UK to be bought over the Internet from a shop in Guildford by me.
Then we travelled together on down to Bristol for her first gig on Saturday night. It was a great gig, and the guitar sounded gorgeous. To my ears, at least, and nobody else seemed to complain.
No comments:
Post a Comment