The Village Pub is packed with the Friday night crowd.

I offer ‘excuse me’s to waiting diners, as I push my way through to join the throng. Friday nights are tremendously enjoyable in the Village Pub – I delight in the community spirit and intellectual conversation.

“Evening!” offers Big A, convivially. “How are your…”

“Guess what? I’ve got a banjo!!!” I interrupt.

“Gosh!” He is obviously impressed by my banjo acquisition, and I tell him about it at some length. After a while, to his clear disappointment, Medium-Sized John drifts over to join us, interrupting my banjo monologue.

“How’ve you been?” he asks.

“I’ve got a banjo!!!” I explain, and tell him about my banjo. I don’t know Medium-Sized John that intimately, and I assume he is not a musician from his eagerness to move the subject along. Ray is at the end of the bar. He knows all about music and will appreciate my banjo.

Short Tony returns from the bar.

“Jonny was just saying,” prompts Big A.

“That he has a banjo.” Short Tony finishes his sentence for him. There is a dejected look in his eye. I expect he is sad that he does not have a banjo also.

I spend the evening trying to form a Village Banjo Society, to counter the women’s feminist book group thing. But it is early days. I resolve, however, after much encouragement, to spend a summer’s morning sitting on the bench by the Village sign strumming the banjo. The tourists will like it. With the advent of cheap flights etc. places must diversify and I could be just the thing to attract hard currency to the Village Shop.

I receive an unexpected banjo!!!

Inside my large package is another large package. This secondary package is oddly quadrilateral – a familiar shape to us musical people, familiar with oddly quadrilateral boxes. But it is too thin for a guitar. I tear at the parcel tape with ravenous fingers.

The contents reveal themselves in their banjoness.

“But… why… how?” I goggle, ogling at its chrome fittings and immaculately varnished neck. I have not ordered a banjo from anywhere. I would have remembered. Perhaps someone has sent it to me as a threat.

“It’s a present. For looking after me.”

I gaze at the LTLP thunderstruck. She has bought me a banjo, for looking after her after she was run over!!! This is clearly the most beautiful, loving, selfless, thoughtful, wonderful gesture that has ever been gestured by anybody ever. I want to throw my arms around her and tell her one thousand times how much I love her. But I have a new banjo, so I fuck off into the living room to play with it.

Dwonggg! it goes. Dwonggg! Dwinggg! Dwinggg!

Its form is unfamiliar, but I will soon get used to it. I have a banjo!!! A proper banjo!!!