The young man on the train in the seat behind me is talking to a friend on his mobile phone. He's just quit one band and is looking to form another. He's not sure about rehearsal space as his musical partner is lukewarm about using his own place. What they really need is some new blood, a couple of musicians they can blend with (preferably with premises to practise in).
"I bought a Loot last week," he says.
"Blimey, that's different," his friend presumably replies.
"It's no different from the others. It's crap."
"Why did you buy a crap lute? Didn't you try it out in the shop?"
"I just paid for it and took it home."
"You didn't try it out? You wouldn't buy a guitar without playing it. Or a mandolin. Why a lute?"
"No, a Loot. The paper. I was looking for musicians. It was crap. There were only two heavy metal guitarists looking for bands and two bands who said they had recording contracts lined up looking for keyboard players."
"So you're not turning into Sting, then?"
"I wouldn't mind a lute, actually."
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