Wasn't it Paul Simon who wrote "my father was a fisherman, my mother was a fisherman's friend"?

There is no comparison to the chaos caused on the night I managed to slip a beermat under Martyn Johnson's guitar strings whilst he was on stage. My friend Irving is completely cheesed off by the foreign objects people have implanted in his tuba over the years (socks, rubbish, and beer - but chewed gum is the worst). Someone once lent me a guitar in a folk club in Paddington - there I was, on a strange stage in a strange club, when I realised this thing was customised, had only five strings and a tuning that originated on the planet Vulcan. I know one person who takes his guitar to the music shop to have it re-strung, and takes it back three days later if it won't stay in tune ...