My guitar has always been my fallback. When the worst comes to the worst, I can always stand on a street corner, and people will put some change in my hat. A few years ago, I had the opportunity to play with a guy you won't know because he isn't famous, but is still one of my favourite musicians. A superb fiddle player.
I'm not bad. I've played a few small pubs, and the occasional wedding, but I'm "competent cabaret singer" not "good musician". He is...I don't know why he isn't a famous musician.
But anyway, I got to play with him - and a few other guys, but it was him who carried us. The rest of us were clinging on by the skin of our teeth.
We had an agent, and we got some serious gigs. But our agent had bright ginger hair, pale white skin, a big red alcoholics nose, and it wasn't until I'd started coming home with hundreds of pounds a week that anyone actually believed me - they thought I was telling them a joke they didn't quite get about a clown.