Evidence that Fran continues to provide entertainment for the general public at great cost to her dignity
That's its front. Now, here's a picture of its back.
(Aren't you thrilled you came along to read this? Who needs sex or chocolate or a visit to Disneyland when you can come here instead and look at pictures of my guitar case?)
Black IS a bit boring, isn't it? I have to say, it's not until today when I decided to entertain you all with my guitar case that I realise how plain and functional it looks. I'd really rather have one that looks like this.
... except that this one would clash with the bright orange skin-tight plunge-neckline sequinned catsuit I wear to performances, and that would look silly on the bus, so perhaps I'll stick with the black one.
Anyway, I was going to tell you about my experiences.
As you can see from the second picture, the case is designed to be carried on the back, like a rucksack. Well, it's easier than it looks, getting those straps on your back. And that's why, a couple of weeks ago, I found myself tangled up in my own guitar case, in the street, unable to move my arms, and with the case welded to me in an awkward position. I don't quite know what went wrong. All I know is, I had to stand there for 5 minutes, trying to extricate myself, for all the world like Houdini-gone-very-awry, and all in the view of the general public (and you know how, during these embarrassing moments, EVERYBODY comes out for a walk).
If I could find a picture on Google entitled 'Woman trapped by own guitar case' so I could show you what it looked like, I would. But, whaddya know? That's just ME then.
I was walking to church (where I play my guitar pretty often) and went past a bench, on which was sitting an elderly lady.
'Morning,' I said, trying to be friendly. Why do I never learn that it's best to just ignore people?
'Morning,' she said. 'What's that on your back, my dear? Is it your skateboard?'
It occurred to me that, if there was an annual competition entitled 'Most Ill-judged Character Analysis Ever' she would have won it. My skateboard? Did I look like someone who was off to the skate park? I checked the back of my jeans quickly. Nope, my pants weren't showing. I looked down. Nope, I wasn't wearing trainers three sizes too big with laces that trailed back to another village. I felt my head. Nope, I wasn't wearing a cap on backwards that bore a 'New York' or 'Atlanta' logo and with a peak that reached down to the back of my knees.
What was most dispiriting about the whole incident was that when I said, 'No, it's my guitar,' thinking 'Oh, she'll think that's pretty cool anyway' she looked right disappointed and turned her head away to gaze, fascinated, at a discarded crisp packet instead.
Next week: Travels with a mobile phone sock. I bet you can hardly wait.