July 26, 2020•111 words
A while ago my wife and I were staying in one of a pair of fairly isolated cottages by a lake: I had stayed in the same cottage as a child, at which time it had still been lit only by gas. In the other cottage a man and a woman were staying, both a fair bit older than us, the man somewhat stout and clearly a child of the 1960s in dress sense. We no more than nodded to them while we were there. The man played the guitar, and occasionally we would hear him playing quietly, very well indeed.
I still like to think that it was Peter Green.