G-STRINGS

Things weren't going well for the old man. He might still have his wash-hose* but people including his brother had made fun of his limited knowledge of world politics and that same brother had even usurped him in the role of grammar Nazi. To make matters worse he still hadn't managed to remove that damned 'Salvador Dali' moustache although he had been clipping away at it.

He hid in the garden meanwhile thinking of how Robert used to do this when he was a kid. "Dirty little devil" he muttered.
Robert confused him sometimes. He'd tried to take him under his wing when they were younger but recently his advice and guidance was going astray.

"Keep your weight on your left leg Rob. You can always trust the left."

Robert was moving more and more to the right. If that in itself wasn't proof that he was crazy he was now banging on again about a flat earth and trying to pretend that Jesus and the Catholic Church were supporters of Aristotle. "Give me a break" he thought as his mind drifted off to the young Robert's breathless description of Mrs O'Connor back in 1965.

"Damn Mrs O'Connor, get thee behind me" he said and tried to force thoughts of Bb7#9 chords into his mind instead. Or G diminished whole tone scales. G. G-strings.

"Aaaarghhh!"

*"I'VE GOT MY WASH HOSE"