From time to time I find myself trapped on social occasions by an individual who professes to be a busy session guitarist. Having tried the various responses, such as incredulity, derision and manslaughter, I now merely listen politely, nod in agreement and attempt to engineer a subtle change of subject with, “These olives are exceptionally good, don’t you think?” I then make my excuses and leave. On returning home, I’ve been known to pick up the nearest instrument and produce a mellifluous rendition of C Sharp Minor Seventh
