Our little band of men had been playing Flowers Of Edinburgh for donkeys' years, then one night the guitar man started to insert a different and weird-sounding chord into the B part, every soddin' time it came round, a real affectation. I asked him what he thought he was doing. He more or less told me that his strumming was his business and he'd do what he liked. I told him that if I ever heard that chord in that tune again I'd stop dead straight away. He got into a terrible sweary huff and stormed off into the gents. After about ten minutes he came back and all was sweetness and light. We never heard that bloody chord again! Don't ask me what it was either!