Julian was preparing to play in his first gig when things started to go wrong. The funny old man wearing a dressing gown didn't exactly help!

Incident One
The worst sound in the world.

A bedsit in an old Edwardian house. Coffee mugs sit with various depths of sludge unwashed on every surface. An unmade bed, grey sheets drooping to the floor, sags wearily in the corner by the window. The floor space is taken up with battered black flight cases, steel protective corners shining bright from frequent impact. Boxes of assorted leads and other gubbins needed by rock musicians fill in whatever space is left.

"Brian, for goodness sakes, calm down. You're making me nervous." Julian exclaimed as Brian stood up, paced across the room and back to his chair for about the twentieth time.

The two lads had been making music together since the start of their third year at college. Now with revision and exams out of the way, they were about to make their debut at the end of term ball.

"You're telling me to calm down? Julian, you've been playing that same riff continuously for the last half hour!" Brian retorted sharply.

Reluctantly, Julian stopped playing, picked up a soft cloth to clean the guitar’s finger board before he returned his beloved Gibson Les Paul to its stand. "When are the bitches coming with the car? We need to allow plenty of time to get set up."

Brian cringed at Julian's reference to Georgina, Brian's girlfriend, and her older sister Sandra, who had volunteered to transport the extensive pile of sound equipment to the venue.

"Julian, do you have to be so rude about them? If it wasn't for Sandra, we would be carrying this lot on the bus! We allowed enough time to make two trips and it isn't as if you were actually ready."

This much was true. Whilst Brian's keyboard was in its flight case next to the P.A. system they had hired, Julian's guitar was once more on his lap, having been taken off its stand again while Brian was talking, now being strummed aimlessly, his amplifier still plugged into the mains and a jumble of cables and effects pedals littered the floor.

Julian grunted, leaned the instrument against the table and stood, intending to get his gig bag and belatedly start packing. He didn't notice that a stray loop of the guitar lead in the jumbled mess of cables and leads that snaked around the room had got wrapped around his boot until he had taken half a step.

Time nearly stood as still as Julian tried to whirl about, the tangled lead around his ankle now acting as a catapult to accelerate the progress of his instrument toward its fate, pulling it further away from Julian’s flailing hands even as he lunged for it. "Catch it!" he screamed, like a slip fielder urging a colleague to catch a loose ball to win a cricket match.

The noise started as the loose ends of the strings that come from the tuning pegs scraped along the table top, yielding a nicely-amplified scratching noise that made Brian’s spine shiver, like when a finger nail is dragged across a concrete paving stone; the pitch rising as the instrument gathered speed, rotating on its body, then a bang as the headstock bounced off the table top.

A long, long silence as it went into freefall ended abruptly with a loud crunch as the neck hit the solidly built amplifier; a splintering of wood followed by six wild twangs making a noise like the chord from hell when the tuning keys broke away from the headstock and released tension from the steel strings.

The arrival of the wreckage on the floor was announced by another bang. The peace that followed was broken only by the asthmatic gasping Julian made as he tried to breathe.

Brian being the closer bent down and picked up the guitar, as the loose strings jangled against each other. "I think it has had it." he stated. "The gig's gone west with it too," he said sarcastically.

Julian gave a loud sniff as he surveyed the shattered instrument. "Maybe I can borrow a guitar from someone?"

"There’s fat chance of that." Brian retorted sharply. "Spilling beer in Dave Barratt's amp made him mad at you. Making a pass at Bob's girlfriend means you can't borrow his Washburn. In fact, you piss-off just about everyone you meet!"

"That's right, kick a guy when he is down, why don't you?" Julian shouted back, colour rising on his neck. He angrily kicked the loop of cable from his foot and started towards his friend. Feeling threatened, Brian shifted the battered guitar into a baseball bat hold. The two would have come to blows, but for a timely knock on the door.

"Cooee! Your roadies and groupies are here!"

Brian replied "Just coming," as he moved to open the door, all the time watching Julian for signs of agression.

"Hi, Sandra." He said, giving her a light kiss on the cheek as she came in. "Hi, gorgeous." He gave Georgina a tight embrace with his free arm, their lips engaging noisily.

"What on earth have you two been doing?" Sandra was looking at the wrecked guitar that Brian was still holding.

"Numb Nuts over there kicked it over. I think we are going to have to cancel the gig."

"Oh no you won't!" Georgina piped up. "I persuaded the ball committee to book you. You're not going to let me down!"

"Okay, so I play on my own, but it will look a bit dumb when I stop for the guitar solo. Or is Julian going to hum?"

Sandra interrupted. "Stop it, you two! Julian, am I right that that is beyond repair?" Julian nodded. "And you can't borrow a replacement?" Julian shook his head. "How much money have you got?"

Julian shrugged his shoulders. "About fifty quid."

"But you're getting paid for the performance?"

"That's two hundred pounds." Georgina added.

"Is that enough to get a replacement?"

"Not a replacement, but a cheaper copy." Julian replied, his mood beginning to lift. Checking his watch, he continued. "If we go straight away we should get to the music shop before it closes."

"Georgina; you and Brian get everything together and I'll take, err, Numb Nuts to buy his new axe." Sandra quipped.

Incident Two
"Haste in every business brings failures" Greek Proverb

Of course it wasn't that simple. A car had run a red light and the resulting accident caused a traffic jam verging on gridlock. Eventually, Sandra found a parking space near the Victorian arcade which was home to the music store.

Julian sprinted for all he was worth, shouting abuse at the slow moving shoppers who had heeded the store closing announcements. He cannoned off one old lady, leaving her bewildered as to how she came to be sitting amongst her shopping bags. An unseen witness decided to take retribution with a neat ankle tap. Julian, with his left foot tangled behind his right leg, had no option but to hit the floor, putting out his hands to absorb the blow. He slid along the polished marble for five metres, coming to a halt looking up at the scuffed Doctor Marten boots of Sid, the owner of the music shop.

"Hey, Julian, it’s good to see you, man!" Though in his early sixties, Sid still spoke with the phraseology he had picked up in his youth whilst living the 'Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll' dream in Southern California, or SoCal as he called it.

Picking himself up and rubbing his right hand, Julian replied. "Sid, the Gibson got trashed and I need a replacement. Now!"

"Oh man, I feel your pain. That Les Paul was a sweet axe. Look, come in tomorrow and I'll sort you out with something. I have a tired trade-in Epiphone that I could do a deal on."

"Tomorrow? Are you mad? You don't understand; I need it now! I'm gigging tonight."

"Julian, Julian, Julian.” Sid replied holding his hands out, palms towards Julian, trying to pacify the angry young man. “Be cool, man. I do understand. But I've shut up and the alarm is on a timer. I can't re-open till tomorrow even if I wanted to, and, hey, Candy and I have a hot date for tonight, don't we babe?"

For the first time Julian noticed the giggling, scantily clad, but well endowed, girl hanging on to the aging rocker's arm. Momentarily distracted from his anger, Julian jealously wondered what the older man possessed to get a babe forty years his junior when he himself was unable to find a girlfriend.

"Man, what have you done to your hand?" Sid pointed to Julian's hand that he was still subconsciously rubbing.

"Ah shit! I've bust a nail! That's all I need." In common with many guitarists, Julian kept the nails of his left hand short for accurate fretting of notes, but allowed those of his right hand to grow long to pluck the strings without needing a plastic plectrum.

Sid looked closely. "That's no problem man. You can repair a split like that with nail varnish. Borrow some from your girlfriend there."

"I'm no girlfriend of that little shit!" Sandra exclaimed as she caught up with Julian. "You could have seriously hurt that lady. You didn't even stop to see if she was alright."

"Yeah, yeah." Julian replied dismissively and started to walk slowly back to the mall entrance.

Incident Three
"Stop Looking and be Found" Proverbs

Trotting behind Julian, trying to keep up with him, Sandra asked. "No luck with the guitar then?"

Julian shook his head, and then stopped in his tracks. He was standing outside a small junk shop sandwiched between Sid's music shop and a chemist’s. He looked from the music store to the chemists and back. Surely they had always been adjacent, with nothing in between?

As he scanned, his subconscious guided his sight to something significant. In the junk shop window, emerging from behind displays of dusty stuffed animals, strange paper weights, intricately carved wooden boxes and many rings and bangles; he could see the neck of a guitar. He pressed his nose to the window for a better look, breath gently fogging the glass. The light coloured wood of the fret board had the lustre of an aging, loved instrument. The headstock had the distinctive shape of a Gibson. Pushing Sandra out of the way, he tried the door handle.

"That's the first bit of luck today." He exclaimed as the door opened. A bell jangled and a strong smell of incense assaulted his nose. The shop was dark, seeming only to be lit by the light coming through the grubby windows. Julian looked for a route past the odd stock to get to the window.

"Hurumph! Can I be of some assistance to you, young man?" The speaker had appeared silently. Startled, Julian looked around. An old man was seated in an even older chair; his feet, in carpet slippers, were resting on a stool; a black cat was purring contentedly on his lap, idly scratching at the old dressing gown worn by the old man until it was given a gentle push, whereupon it leapt nimbly to the floor, stretched and gave Julian a look full of resentment.

Julian found his voice. "I, I, I wanted to look at the guitar in your window... Please." he added when Sandra jabbed her elbow in his ribs.

"Ah yes. That’s a beautiful instrument with an interesting history."

Julian wasn't sure how it happened, or if it happened at all, but as the old man put out his hand, the room sort of shimmered and the guitar was within his reach. As he lifted it, Julian saw the body for the first time.

It was bright Barbie pink!

"Oh crap! Will you look at that?"

"Yes, an unusual finish but done to an impeccable standard by the manufacturer’s custom department."

"But PINK?"

"Ah, I see your problem young man. It would take a strong man or a special girl to stand on stage, playing it in front of an audience; but don’t worry about that, here, give it a try."

"Or a desperate one." Julian muttered under his breath as he took the offered guitar. He put his right foot on the proprietor's stool and nestled the body of the guitar on his thigh, the neck rested in the crook of his left hand, fingers experimentally feeling the weight of the strings. It felt right, just like his old one. Normally, no two instruments will play the same, but this one was the equal of his own. He strummed a chord. The strings were new and sounded bright, but not harsh. Some scales and then riffs, using the fingers of his left hand to pull the strings down, 'bending' the note. No, this wasn't the mere equal of his old guitar, it was much better. But pink.

"How much?" Julian asked, knowing the price for such quality should be well out of his reach.

"I should tell you that this instrument has some unusual quirks and may not be right for you."

"How much?" Julian repeated louder, dreading that the price would be realistic.

"Hmm,” The old man paused, looking thoughtfully at Julian, “maybe this is right for you after all. Let's call it fifty pounds."

Julian was speechless. Such an instrument should have cost at least a thousand, but here it was being offered within his budget, without even breaking into the gig money. He quickly dug though his pockets, coming up with a selection of worn notes.

The old man pulled himself out of the chair, re-knotting the cord of his dressing-gown before taking Julian's money. He smoothed the notes between his index and middle fingers and Julian could have sworn that the creases vanished leaving the notes like new. Vanishing is exactly what happened to the notes.

"There's a case for it somewhere, shouldn't be hard to find." The floor near Julian’s feet shimmered and there was the case, classic Gibson shape, in pristine condition and clearly never been gigged, but… coloured to match the instrument that had come from it. Julian gave it a second glance, the cloth covering hadn’t been painted; it was pink.

The old man stood rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a receipt already written, showing that Julian had paid fifty pounds for the guitar. “Young man, before you leave, it is required that I explain about the instrument.”

Julian snatched the receipt out of the store owners grasp. “It’s a guitar, a nice one, and now it’s my guitar. I don’t need to know anything else about it.” snarled Julian, backing out of the door.

Julian walked back through the arcade, past Sid’s shop, hoping the aging rocker was tucked up somewhere with his bimbo and wouldn’t see him carrying the pink guitar case.

Following Sandra back to her car he heard her muttering about “lucky” and “falling on his feet” although that is after the expletives have been removed!. He carefully placed the case inside the boot that Sandra held open for him.

Sandra climbed in, into the driver’s seat, waiting for Julian to get in the seat next to her and fasten his seatbelt before she pulled out of the parking space. An orange light on the dash started winking. “I need to get gas,” Sandra exclaimed, “otherwise we could get stuck and you won’t get to the gig at all” she added, before Julian could make a retort about not having time.

Incident Four
If it Doesn't Move, Paint it Grey

The petrol station was one of those big ones that sold petrol and everything from groceries to kindling, porn magazines to flowers and a few car accessories as a neglected sideline. Julian wandered in whilst Sandra battled with the heavy hose of the petrol pump. He looked at the car accessories and then selected three cans of aerosol paint. Instead of tucking them into his jacket and leaving as he would normally have done, he went to the checkout and cheerfully paid the assistant.

Julian removed his shabby leather jacket and left it on the back seat, before he took the guitar from its case and walked briskly to a dark corner where he propped it against a wall. Using the skill that had made no clean wall safe within a five mile radius of his home, he attacked the guitar. As the pinkness gave way to blue, green and red, a tear came to his eye; he sniffed and took a look at his handiwork. The guitar too seemed to be crying, tears of colour ran down the front of it, not just runs from over zealous use of the paint, Julian was too good to let that happen. However, the colours seemed to be running away, dripping on the floor as the pinkness was restored. Julian tried again, but the paint would not stick. The bright pink seemed to have the same effect as Teflon on a non-stick pan. He returned to the car and put the guitar back in its case in the boot, where it seemed to stare back at Julian with a smug look of satisfaction.

As they continued their journey back to the flat, Julian quietly said, “Sid reckoned that nail polish might fix my busted nail. Do you have any please?”

“There is some in my bag.” Sandra replied kindly, noting the ‘please’ in Julian’s request.

Julian pulled out the small bottle of clear liquid, put his foot on the dash and, bracing his hand on his knee, proceeded to apply the polish to his torn thumb nail. It flowed over the nail like a wave lapping on a beach, the split closed and healed, leaving no sign of it having been there. Julian looked at the nail; it now had a hard surface; he tested it against his thumb and found it was rigid. “This is cool stuff!” he exclaimed and thinking he could benefit from the added strength, proceeded to paint the remaining nails on his right hand and then without a good reason, those of his left hand too.

The varnish twinkled and seemed to flow around each nail in a hypnotic spiral that twisted faster and faster, slowly losing its transparency, and taking a pink hue which deepened. The apparent movement in the varnish slowed and by the time it had stopped it had become a shade of pink that exactly matched the new Gibson. Julian had watched this transformation with a look on his face that ranged from frightened, through bemused, and ended up serene when he shrugged as if it were a normal occurrence. He started humming and as his left hand fingered chords on an imaginary fret board, he tapped out a beat with his right thumb nail against his pursed lips. Unnoticed, the colour and gloss of his nail migrated to his lips. Sandra wasn’t aware that anything had occurred.

Brian and Georgina had man-handled all of the gig equipment on to the pavement and were preserving the precious parking space by standing in it whilst waving annoyed motorists on.

“You got a replacement?” Brian asked anxiously as Julian climbed out of the passenger seat.

“Yeah, a sweet axe, man.” Julian took the guitar from the car to show his friend. Brian made no comment about the colour, but congratulated Julian on the luck that had passed ownership to him.

Julian took a look at the pile of gear on the pavement and then at his watch. “We need to hustle, guys, we only just have time for one trip and I can’t imagine all this will fit in the car.”

“We’ll take the instruments, amps, and cables as a priority and see what else will fit in.” Brian replied, lifting his amp in as he spoke. Julian put the pink case in next. Unseen, sparks flashed between it and the amplifier, the amplifier concertinaed to a thin package as did the keyboard the Brian pushed in. The boys lifted in the mixing desk, not noticing how little space was being taken up.

As Julian went to pick up one of the PA speakers he passed Georgina who was sorting through a pile of cables. “Hey, Georgina, good job! Please could you tuck them into any spare spaces around the amps?”

Surprised at his politeness, Georgina smiled at him, took off her jacket and placed it with Julian’s on top of the pink case in the back seat of the car, before working with a will to move all the odds and ends needed for the gig from pavement to car. A smell of warm leather would have been apparent had anyone lingered more than a few seconds behind the car.

The pavement was clear, the car more than full. The four climbed in and Sandra drove to the venue.

Incident Five
If it Looks Like a Duck...

The university had been built in the 1970s as a polytechnic, which was upgraded to Uni status during the 1990s. The sports hall where the ball was taking place had been an extension built during the poly’s tenth year. Red brick with infilling panels of faded blue; internal exposed steel beams supported the flat roof and doubled as gantries for the lighting. An entrance lobby with smoked glass was at one end. A big rugby player cum bouncer stood by the door, arms folded across his chest covering a blue sweatshirt upon which was emblazoned ‘UB Dangerous Sports Club — Handle with Care’; unblinking dark eyes peering from below a heavy brow dared anyone to come past him.

Sandra pulled up outside; Brian climbed out and approached the bouncer. “We are the band, can we take our gear through please?”

Georgina joined Brian. “Brian, this is Stan, he’s on the organising committee too. Stan, this is Brian, the keyboard player, that’s Julian the guitarist and my sister Sandra”

Stan’s face broke into a wide friendly smile. “Great to see you all. I was beginning to get a bit worried about not having any music tonight.” He passed among them shaking hands. “Pleased to meet you, Brian; Hey, Sandra, great you can be here; Julia, nice to meet you too, babe.”

Julian felt confused. Had Stan just called him ‘Julia’ and ‘babe’? He had the feeling he should be insulted, but that didn’t seem right, as it must have been said as a complement. He shrugged and helped the others carry the gear inside, but each time he passed the big man, he had the feeling he was being watched with more than professional interest.

An hour later and the stage was set up. The student party goers are enjoying their meal and Brian and Julian are in a back room. Julian has sat on Brian’s stool and predictably nestled his guitar on his lap to play scales whilst talking through the play list.

“We should play Sultans of String last, and then people might not notice the middle eight when you miss the key change… again!” Brian joked.

Julian laughed. “OK. But I don’t think you will get away with programming a ten minute Ginger Baker solo into the drum machine. Still, we would be able to get to the bar and back before it’s over.” He scratched his groin vigorously. “I don’t know why you were calling me Numb Nuts earlier, but it certainly feels like they are at the moment! These trousers seem much tighter than they should be too.”

Brian looked at his colleague. “You look fine to me, Julian. Pretty good actually!” A low whistle escaped from his lips.

That sounded wrong to Julian. His friend was paying him a compliment and that whistle..., was he coming on to him?

Georgina put her head around the door. Doing a poor imitation of Bogart’s voice she encouraged them, “OK boys, it’s time. You’re going to go out there as unknowns, but you’ll come back as stars.” She ducked out laughing as the lads pelted her with beer mats.

Julian picked up his jacket and pulled it on. The waist seemed tight, but across his chest it had become loose. “Georgina!” He shouted after her. ”Have you swapped our jackets over?”

She looked back into the room, a confused look on her face. “Of course I haven’t. Why would I want that smelly thing of yours? It’s probably a health hazard.”

Julian looked down at his jacket again. It was definitely his. He took it off and put it back on, a look of confusion on his face. He wriggled about a bit and shrugged his shoulders trying to get the jacket settled comfortably. It started to fit better, though the exercise must have made him warm; his chest and stomach felt hot. He picked up the pink Gibson and high fived his friend. “Let’s do it!” He hadn’t noticed the collar of his t-shirt had stretched and descended showing more of his chest than before, the collar blurred and sharpened again, simple white had become a delicate lace design. His flat chest had melded and immature breasts were now forming.

As Julian followed Brian, he felt a shooting pain through both of his Achilles tendons. He found he could only avoid the pain by walking on his toes, even though the 16 hole Doctor Martens boots laced to the knee make his ankles feel uncomfortable. ‘I hope this eases off, I’m going to be on my feet for the next hour.’ he thought.

The two made their way onto the stage. The tables and chairs had been cleared away and the students were hanging around the stage expectantly. One person started it, but quickly all the others joined in. “We want the band! We want the band!” They chanted.

Brian slouched into his position behind the keyboards; smiling nervously. Julian joined him, picking up the open end of the lead he had left ready on the amp and plugged it into his guitar. He waved to Georgina, who had had a crash course in PA systems the day before, to ‘crank up the volume’ as Brian had put it. He gave a brief smile to Brian and stepped towards his microphone. The chanting abated.

“HELLO, BAISINGSTOKE!” Julian cried, his forced smile crumbled as his voice came out with a high squeaking pitch. He was about to look at Brian for help, but Brian had already started off the programmed drum track. The simulated drum sticks counted in the rhythm. No choice but to get on with it.

That first power chord was perfect. Oh what a sweet instrument this was. The chord changes came out slickly, and the intermediate finger picking sections had a crisp resonance. For a short time Julian lost himself in the pleasure of making music, but all too soon he had to join Brian in singing the lyrics. He took a breath ready to sing again, unsure what would come out. He thought his voice still sounded high, but he was singing in tune. His second thought was to enjoy the moment and sing his heart out.

Incident Six
“See things from the boy's point of view” Sir Robert Baden-Powell

Stan stood by the rear fire exit. His job was simple. Stop anyone coming in, keep the exit clear and open the doors if there was an emergency. Stan liked this event. Invited guests only, so no unsavoury types, well actually that was difficult to quantify as there were first years there. His position gave him a good view over the crowd, who, now that the music had started had settled into the usual pattern. Music aficionados were pushing against the stage, dancers jigging in the middle and the romantics in the darker areas around the edges and back of the hall.

Looking over the heads of the audience, Stan viewed the band, well, more of a duo, than a band. He knew that their hiring was slightly nepotistic, with Georgina dating the keyboard player, but they were cheap and the crowd seemed happy with their playing. Stan couldn’t work out what Georgina saw in Brian. He was a fairly forgettable bloke, not that Stan was qualified to make such judgements. However, the guitarist, well; she was most memorable and not hard on the eyes at all, that’s for sure!

An old man came in through the fire door, taking from the pocket of his dressing gown a piece of card on which was written in brown crayon ‘Access All Areas’. He said. “Here’s my invitation, Stanley. How’s the band tonight?”

Stan nodded “Fine.”, only vaguely aware of the man’s presence and not realising the stranger had referred to him by name.

He went back to thinking about the guitarist. He really liked the way she filled those tight jeans, which were tucked into stiletto heeled boots. The black leather jacket, over a tee shirt was unzipped almost to the waist and only just contained her well endowed breasts. Stan couldn’t remember her looking that good as she’d helped her friends carry the gear into the hall.

He wondered if she was available, obviously she wasn’t going out with Brian because Stan didn’t think Georgina would stand for any three-in-a-bed scenarios. He decided it might be worth his while finding out if she could possibly be interested in him.

As Brian cued up the drum machine for the last piece of the night Julian approached his microphone and spoke to the audience for the first time since his introduction.

“Hello, Basingstoke,” After singing for the last hour, he had become used to the new pitch of his voice. “We’re coming to the end now and hope you have enjoyed our performance.” Cheers from the crowd. “I hope the organising committee are sufficiently impressed to invite us back.” He smiled and waved to Georgina who blushed. “But perhaps they might pay us next time!”

Laughs and a call from some unseen person near the back “I’d pay you anytime, darling!”

Julian hesitated, wondering who out there would call him ‘darling’ and offer to pay him, presumably for sex. He peered out into the audience but could only make out the first couple of rows because of the stage lights. However he did see one face he recognised and was very surprised that it was the old man from the junk shop, a big smile on his face and he gave a little salute to show he had seen Julian’s recognition. For the last time that evening the drum machine started up and counted them in, Brian came in on cue. Julian watched the old man clap to the rhythm and begin dancing in his carpet slippers, clearly enjoying himself.

The last chord rang out and faded, to be replaced by cheers from the crowd.

“Thank you, Basingstoke, and goodnight!”

The lights went down and the party goers all shuffled out, leaving the organisers to tidy up and the band to put away all their gear.

“How come there is more stuff going back than we brought?” Brian exclaimed after trying a third combination for packing the car.

“Don’t worry, we’ll do two trips.” Sandra replied. “First trip we’ll take your stuff to your room and we’ll do the second trip to Julian’s. He needs to move the rest of it to out of the hall before the the caretaker threatens to increase the hire cost of the hall if he couldn’t lock up on time. He’s done it before.”

Julian nodded acceptance to this plan and went back to look dismally at the remaining gear.

“I’ll stay and help you, Julia.” Julian looked around to see the broad chest of Stan the bouncer. “I’m surprised Brian didn’t stay to make sure you were all right. Shall I just coil these leads up?”

“Thanks. That’s really helpful. Brian has to shift the other stuff out of the car at the other end, so it’s the only way.” Julian went to pick up the Marshall amp and felt a pain in his Achilles that made him totter.”

“Whoa, I’ll get that, babe.” Stan exclaimed. “You shouldn’t try lifting that sort of weight, especially not in those heels! You watch the gear outside and I’ll move the rest.”

‘Heels? Babe? He called me Babe again. But it doesn’t sound nasty when he does. Odd that.’ Julian mused as he watched the heavy amp lifted down from the stage as if it were a paper bag. Before heading out to the entrance, he carefully picked up the Gibson and respectfully put it into the pink case. “That was the best, thanks, Pinkie.”’ he said, then thought ‘I’m talking to a guitar; they’ll be locking me away.’

Incident Seven
Two's Company

Stan had made short work moving the amplifiers, and with the hall empty and now locked, they stood outside in the orange light of the sodium street lighting, waiting for the car.

Feeling awkward in the giant’s company, Julian nervously started a conversation. “What’s with the dangerous sports club, Stan?”

“It’s a college club. We do lots of unusual sports, that many would consider, erm, foolhardy, if not crazy.”

“It says ‘champion’ on your shirt, what was that in?”

Stan looked embarrassed. “Erm, actually I’m college Extreme Ironing champion.”

Before the glint in Julian’s eye could become outright laughter, Stan changed the subject. “So, er, Julia; are you seeing anyone at the moment?” he asked hesitantly.

“No, Stan, I don’t seem to be able to attract anyone,” Julian replied, wondering if Stan was gay, or for some reason he thought Julian a girl — what a ridiculous idea!

A girl; with pink nails, long hair and pink lips, tight jeans tucked into high heeled boots; the lace of her round necked t-shirt framing an impressive cleavage all under a form-fitting leather jacket . Yes, a ridiculous idea.

“Maybe once we have cleared everything back to your place we could go out for a drink. Um, a post gig drink, I mean all of us.” Stan went on, too nervous to ask outright for a date.

Julian shivered, the November chill getting past his jacket. He wrapped his arms around himself to keep in some warmth.

Sensing Julian’s discomfort, Stan risked all and put an arm around her. Without thinking about it, Julia accepted the comfort and snuggled in close.

Stan talked more about ironing whilst hanging from cliff faces, Julia spoke about her music. Neither mentioned their close proximity. They were still close when the car arrived for the second load.

“Hi, Guys! Everything alright?” Sandra asked, a surprised look on her face as she looked curiously at the embracing couple.

“Sure. Everything is fine. I’ll get this stuff in to the car. Stand back.” Stan replied, easily hoisting the amplifier and case containing the PA system. “Look, there isn’t room for the five of us in the car. I’ll follow you in my car. Want to ride with me, Julia?”

Incident Eight
What the Dickens?

Julia woke up slowly, a light but persistent tapping coming from the door of the bedsit. She had had a poor sleep with dreams both troubled and happy. The dream about being an arrogant slob had been awful, but the dream about being bedded by Stan was… No, wait a moment; that was no dream, she thought as she lay back, she recalled how Stan had come in after the pub, how together they had cleaned up the room whilst they chatted about nothing much, then he had taken her into his arms and looked deeply into her eyes, and she had just nodded, a smile on her face. She remembered the gentle passion he had shown and the sheer ecstasy of the orgasm when it came. Oh wow!

The tapping hadn’t stopped.

She rubbed her eyes before pulling on a robe she found at the end of the bed and then stumbled to the door, pulling it open to be confronted by the old man complete with dressing gown and cat.

“Hello, Julia,” He cheerfully greeted her. “I thought I would save you the trouble of dropping back to the shop with the guitar by coming to collect it.”

“Wha’? What are you on about and how do you know where I live?” Julia blurted out.

“The rental period is over so I came to retrieve my property” The man replied. “Look here is my copy of the receipt.”

Julia read the receipt he offered, then looked through her handbag, ‘where did that come from’ she mused. She compared her copy and sure enough both said the guitar was only rented for the night and charge had been fifty pounds.

“Surely you didn’t think you were buying it, did you? An instrument like this would cost two or three thousand pounds! Even fifty to hire for the night is still a bargain.”

Reluctantly, Julia picked up the pink guitar case and handed over to the old man. He opened the lid and checked the content.

“I had another reason for coming this morning,“ The man continued. “Normally, I would let fate take her well worn path, but in your case I’m wondering if I should intervene.”

“I’m confused. Who are you with this talk about changing fate?”

“Well, where should I start? I suppose if this were a story written by Dickens, I would have come three times, but the morning is too short for that, so I’m the ghost of Christmas past, Christmas present and Christmas to come all rolled into one. Oh, and I’m a month or so early.

“I tried to explain about the guitar as I’m supposed to, but you wouldn’t listen and to be honest I didn’t try too hard. Because of that I’ve decided to give you a choice.”

“Come with me and look in the mirror.” He guided Julia by the shoulder to the full length mirror screwed to the wall next to the door. ”What do you see, Julia?”

“Well, my hair could do with a good brushing, some make up would help and more sleep would probably get rid of the dark patches under my eyes.”

“So you see a girl. Good. Now, what I should have insisted that you hear, is that the guitar is more than a beautiful instrument. It is magical and has the ability to make more that beautiful music. It can also make beautiful people.

“This is how you looked yesterday and what you were doing”

The magician touched the mirror, it surface shimmered like mercury, Julia’s image broadened like some fairground attraction, then, though the edge of the mirror remained molten, the reflection in the center steadied and showed Julian’s image.

Julia took a sharp intake of breath and exclaimed “Him! He is the person I turned into in my dream, no, the nightmare I had last night.”

“Far from it, Julia. It is he from whom you have been born.” The wizard replied. He touched the shimmering edge of the mirror again, stirring the liquid and the image changed, and started to show events from Julian’s life. Knocking the old lady down, the names he called people, stealing sweets and cheating his friends. “Probably, this is the first time you have seen yourself as others see you. Do you like what you see?”

“That was me?” Julia whimpered and then slumped. She had to be supported by the wizard, tears coming to her eyes.

“The guitar has worked its magic on you, But it has seen that the beauty in you is feminine and made the changes necessary.

“None of your friends have noticed you changing. If they came in now they would still see the old Julian and interpret his behaviour, however nice the new you tried to be, as just what they would have expected from him. However, people whom you have met since, such as, what was his name?” The wizard paused as if for thought, a twinkle in his eye. “Ah yes, the handsome Stanley. They would only have seen the new you and likewise interpreted all your actions as good and true.”

“But I can’t have been him… that, that horrid person.” Julia cried.

“Sadly, you were.” The wizard snapped his fingers. Suddenly Julian’s personality joined Julia’s in the one body.

“You changed me! How could you.” He spat at the wizard.

Ignoring the venom of Julian’s outburst the old man continued. “Unlike Dickens’ ghosts I will give you two visions of the future. It’s a sort of ‘buy one, get one free’ offer. After you have seen them, I’m going to offer you a choice.

“Firstly, let’s take a look at Julian. He would become very successful.” Again the wizard touched the mirror, waving his hand up and down. The image of Julian changed again. Gone were the leather jacket and jeans, replaced by a sharp suit. Leaning on his arm was a young woman dressed, Julia judged, in top designer clothes; her figure would make a catwalk model jealous. Behind them were the trappings of wealth. A large house with Ferrari and Range Rover parked outside. A couple of children were ignored as they played in front of the house. The woman looked distracted. “The children are from the first marriage, she is number three. One and two both took generous settlements as soon as they could. He knows no love. His wives only marry him for his money and many times he has paid prostitutes for sex, even whilst married.

“In short he hasn’t changed, making money at the expense of friendship and loyalty.”

Julian looked at the future version of himself. The eyes were hard, chin jutting forward aggressively but perhaps that face was a sham, maybe it was hiding sadness.

Reading Julian’s thoughts the old man continued. “Yes, he is very sad. You see, he knows what he is. He knows he leaves a trail of destroyed relationships, yet he has no willpower to change and to do what is right.”

“That is enough of that!” He pulled his hand away from the mirror. “That is far too maudlin for this time in the morning. Let us now see what Julia has in her future. It is much more interesting.” Again the wizard rested his hand on the mirror surface then moved it from left to right. The fluidity of the mirror returned and once again the reflection settled. It showed a small, spartan, but clean flat. Julia was sitting in a chair looking as tired as the old clothes she wore. An infant sat on her lap gurgling as it looked into its mother’s eyes. The smile it saw was filled with love. The caress showed warmth, even through the cold image of the mirror.

A man entered, his face indistinct, but Julia could tell that there was a love filled smile there. He came to Julia and gently kissed her on the lips, and then as he pulled away, she put her hand to his cheek and returned the kiss.

“Now there is a heart-warming scene.” The wizard cooed. “Now, we need to move on. Normally, once the guitar has done its work that is it. However as I said before, I’m concerned you didn’t know the details of what you were hiring. So for my piece of mind I am offering you a choice. Is it to be Julian or Julia from now forward? It is that simple, but once the decision is made, there is no possibility of changing your mind. Then your pasts will be re-built on your chosen personality, your friends will have always know that person and their traits.

The wizard snapped his fingers again. The conjoined personalities of Julia and Julian started making their cases, both taking opposing views.”

“Julia, It’s got to be me.” Julian’s personality insisted. “It’s better to be a man in this world. Men have the power, make decisions and take control. Compare our lives; the house and flat; the cars and clothes. We both are going to have kids so no difference there. You are going to be poor and tired. I will be rich and live in the lap of luxury. The money will make up for everything else.”

Julia’s personality reflected on both futures and the people they contained. “You don’t look happy. Those children are as much trophies as the women. You don’t look loved, Julian. Last night I felt loved maybe for the first time, I can’t see if that is Stanley in my future, but whoever it is I know he will love me for what I am, not the wealth I can bring. The child will bring me joy. Joy, do you know what that really means?

“Julian, you only love yourself and you will never receive another’s love. Old man, sir. Please let it be me?”

“Sold to the lady wearing the robe! You have chosen for the right reasons.” The wizard exclaimed. The personality of Julian started to leave, “You should know, Julia, that the visions are not fully detailed. Oh, yes, you will have love in your future, but with whom, that is unknown. Do not be complacent. I know you have a depth of character now that will strive for more. The flat and clothes? Well, who knows? That may only be a temporary situation. Do not be complacent; your future is still an unwritten book.”

Julia relaxed; the stress of arguing with her former alter ego left her. “Mister, I don’t suppose you would want to do a deal on the guitar? Maybe I can pay for it in instalments?”

The old man laughed as he rummaged in the pockets of his dressing gown. “No, I’m sorry, the instrument stays the property of Spells ’R’ Us. I have however been discussing your situation with my customs and repairs department. I think you will find your own instrument now plays every bit as nicely as this one.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind, but would I be asking too much if it could be pink?”

My thanks go to Puddintine, for giving encouragement and correcting my grammar.