![]() I quickly became friendly with the owner, a bearded man clearly still from earlier, friendlier times. But at the time, I lived in the Northern (Viking) part of the Netherlands where such a thing simply could never happen! I recall the music store: ‘Daddy’s Musique’ on the Rue de Douai, when they opened I was there and held for the first time my dream guitar. Now in the USA this would have been normal. Early next morning I got some coffee and croissants, and this guy lived in the heart of the music shops district (9 th arrondissement) so while looking for coffee, my eye caught a shop window proudly displaying… a guitar made of glass… My heart skipped a beat. Met and talked to a German classical violinist who was busking in the Metro (subway) and he gave me his couch for the night. I tried to make it as guitar player in far-away London, but that was when Punk hit (“We don’t need no bloody guitah-sohloos”) And then I hitch-hiked to Paris. ![]()
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