There was a guitar in the house when I moved in, complete with broken strings so that I never felt overly guilty about not picking it up. It was a fair compromise, a delicately balanced eco-system of personal responsibilty and keeping things locked in a cupboard (out of sight, out of mind).

But now K has ruined everything by surprising me with a new set of strings! The bastard! The eco-system is in melt-down! Doom has come upon us!

At the time of course, I was genuinely quite touched by his thoughtfulness, and stood there grinning merrily. Then I got home and I realised that I don’t even remember how to attach strings and certainly not how to play.

Of course, I can’t tell him that. I’ll just have to google it all. God bless google.