she cried so when I left her

Ukulele flash! (This'll never last beyond the first week of term, so don't get used to it.)

I have been to the Duke of Uke. It was a bit like its website - full of promise, but ultimately not as exciting as one hoped. Where was Marilyn Monroe? Where was Tiny Tim? Where was Martin White? (Martin White is really an accordionist but can also play the Ukulele and has the distinct advantage over the other two of being alive). I wanted swagged red curtains, dimmed lighting, and perhaps a few glamorous women in burlesque-esq clothing.* I would have settled at least for some music playing. What I got was two trendy-looking types who were staring intently at their computers. As it happens it turned out that the woman was wearing very small shorts, so at least she'd made some effort.

Still, I soldiered on through my shattered daydream. I bought a pitch pipe (which has a flat E, but it's from Brazil so maybe it's temperamental), a felt plectrum and another teach-yourself book. As I left the shop a man in a suit came in and was asking whether the many ukuleles on the walls were guitars, so I also got a moment of musical superiority. Guitars?! Silly man.

Since I have been home I have spent a happy hour or so (when I haven't been on the phone to Those Mortgage Bastards) stumbling through 'The Yellow Rose of Texas'. You'd be amazed by the fun there is to be had with old Rose. She has three chords and a strumming pattern; as apparently one does not make these things up, there are Rules. I also have new and exciting marks on my right arm from where I am holding the uke differently, having studied the diagram in the new book (it's bigger, for the hard of seeing) carefully.

I am quite thrilled.

*I wanted Coco de Mer? I worry about my psyche sometimes.