Saturday, 30 October 2010
Friday, 29 October 2010
Edith: And it's right here, no varnish, all pulled off. Jordi is frightfully sorry.
Luthier Elvis: Easy. We can replace the scratchboard with a thin veneer of wood or a sheet of plastic or completely revarnish the top part of the body.
Edith: It just came off in his hands and he was being really careful.
Luthier Elvis: We can't just revarnish the affected area. It would have to be the whole top. Somewhat more expensive but it would restore it to the original condition.
Edith: It's not as if he was tugging it off. He says if you stick anything on a guitar it dampens the sound.
Luthier Elvis: Well, actually that's true, although in this case it's a minimum amount.
Edith: And then crrraaaarckkkk, it all just pulled away and the varnish came off.
Luthier Elvis: Or we could put on a sticker of Franco?
(Beat, two, three four)
Edith: I beg your pardon? Franco?
Luthier Elvis: Yeah, funny guy. I grew up with him. Short guy, short legs, silly moustache. Bossy fellow. You could put a sticker of him on your guitar.
Edith: I don't think so.
Luthier Elvis: Verneer or varnish then?
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
Taking Edith to the mad luthiers in the next village this afternoon. Jordi pulled off the golpeador on her guitar and all the varnish came off with it. I arrived for my class just as it has happened. Jordi on the verge of self destructing with horror, Edith, being French, insanely in control. The luthiers have their studio in the attic of a carpenter's shop. One of those Spanish set ups where nobody answers the door unless you phone first. From the outside it looks like an abandoned warehouse. These luthiers are the kind that talk to wood personally. I knew a stonemason like that once but he went mad when a painter friend took him to Barcelona and he discovered putas. He never recovered. Nor did his wife.
Anyway, I really like people that have conversations with wood and stone.
Monday, 25 October 2010
The wild cat next door has stopped running away when I leave the food for it. Eric and the Reiki mistress return on saturday. After two weeks in France they may have possibly changed their minds about perhaps living there. The cat will be glad to see them.
The invisible wife is still hiding out next door. I have a gut feeling that her husband Henry may have become so emerged in Oktoberfest that he has forgotten he got married again a couple of years ago. She's stopped ringing the doorbell and asking me if she should leave him. She should, but not for me to say.