Oh! You must be Boomy! Your daughter has told us all about you!
A woman bounded forward to shake my hand profusely.
She was a mad-haired thing but underneath her clumsy woolens looked as if she still had a couple of races left in her.
Yes, Miss Frobisher. He has his guitar and everything!
The Little Lady let go of my hand and ran off to jump up and down with her friends like monkeys with sore arses, occasionally pointing over at me and my stupid guitar case poking up over my left shoulder.
I was nervous as fuck. I still couldn't get the fear of sheet music out of my head and despite my earlier thoughts of miming and just being an incredibly cool motherfucker found myself uncharacteristically worried that I might embarrass my daughter somehow.
Well, come on. Don't be shy. Let's see what you have got!
Miss Frobisher motioned up eagerly at my guitar case in a way that made me feel slightly wistful for the days when lots of random ladies seemed really keen on seeing my instrument.
Yeah, of course.
I deftly wheeked my guitar out of its case and threw the strap around my neck.
Oh, that's low. That is really low.
Miss Frobisher stepped back and looked me up and down in a way that made me glad something solid and wooden was shielding my nethers from her penetrating gaze.
Can you play it alright like that?
She reached forward and touched the neck of my guitar as if trying to communicate with a Gorilla in the mist.
Yup. Guitarist of the nineties. I can play no other way.
It was true as well. When I first started playing in bands I had done my best to do all of the cliched cool guitarist things that I could. One of which was slinging the fucker as low as possible as the idea of looking like a banjolier from the 1920s made me want to cut off my penis and play chase the dog with it.
Banjoliers in action. I make no apology to banjoliers for them airing their filthy ways in public
Oh this is exciting. I love your guitar. A Fender, mmm I love Fenders.
She touched the neck of my guitar again and I smiled as if she wasn't dicing with meat death.
I just wanted to check, um, the songs. I don't know any of them I think. Do you have a note of the chords or anything?
I tried to sound casual as if I hadn't been doing fear shits all weekend thinking about sheet music.
Oh we don't have anything written down. I can show you? The songs are pretty much C, F, G and the occasional A minor.
She grabbed a nearby guitar and strummed a C.
Ah the key of C! The gentleman's key.
I let out a little laugh and joined her with a strum.
Oh, I don't know any of that stuff about keys. I just play guitar!
Miss Frobisher tossed her head back and laughed as if people who knew music were wankers.
I threw a double thumbs up over at the Little Lady who grinned and capered as if she was on the kind of drugs that I could only dream about getting.
Then I paid attention to Miss Frobisher showing me the easiest chords in the world.
I hope you don't get stage fright!
She jested as we headed over to where the choir stood on the little school stage.
I walked with her onto the stage and then out to the tiny empty hall.
Somewhere some kids started singing the start of that fucking Believer song, I looked over at Miss Frobisher who was enthusiastically jigging about clapping her hands. She motioned for me to join in.
I smiled my very best big fake happy smile and started clapping.
Fuck, how the mighty have fallen.