Upon returning home after the marvellous melodic musical session in the park yesterday, I was invited to a dinner party. It was lovely. A small family gathering with the hosts’ father being in attendance. He is a wondrous old chap, a charismatic Welshman, a writer and former journalist for the Daily Mirror. (He once wrote an 800 word article in the iambic pentameter: not a single person noticed nor said anything). In light of this, I recited some of my play at the dinner table, he loved it. I asked him to proof-read my script(s) before sending it to publishers, the gentleman agreed to do so. Even his girlfriend was a delight to talk to and we enjoyed a marvellous roast dinner and dessert.
After eating I produced both my guitars: Saint Lillian and Gertrude. Instantly the old boy asked, “Why on earth are you studying Latin history when you play so beautifully?” I gave my reasons, which he accepted. We even did a duet together, a ho-down, and the man sang such wit in a southern-drawl.Today I am invited to a musical get together. I refused, on account of having to catch up on my Latin.
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