Beyond the shop glass was your birthday present, an acoustic guitar with only three strings. But the shop wasn’t open for me to go in there, run my fingers along the fret board and buy it for you. I could not wait for opening time. I had to get to work.
Sitting at my desk and that guitar haunted my thoughts all day. The way it could be a project for you to fix and mend into a ‘beauty’ and then play for recordings. But getting off the train and walking across the car park, two kids with wide-eyed, drunk with shopping grins, walked past with a battered, three-stringed guitar. Your guitar. The shop window was empty.
Now your only present is the serious one that I bought weeks ago. But now I am going to write you a story. It may not be ready for your birthday but it will be for you.