Up at 6.00 am yesterday and straight into my workshop to begin the sprint finish on Danielle’s guitar. The tape is in the distance. The adoring crowd is cheering.
At 3.00 pm I flipped the guitar onto its side to carefully cut a scalpel line along the masking of the neck in order to ease it away from the polished lacquer. I didn’t notice that a very hot spotlight was just 2 inches away from the side on the lower bout. It must have been there a couple of minutes as I concentrated on my delicate manoeuvre.
I looked up to find my lovely smooth lacquer bubbling away under the heat. My heart hit my socks. I exclaimed (I didn’t even swear, honest).
I turned off the lights. Turned off the radio. Closed my workshop door and went and sat quietly in the Garden Room. I was joined by one of our cats who sensed the severity of the situation and sat quietly beside me, silently willing me to cheer up. I knew that the only thing I could do now was to sand the whole section back to the wood and re-lacquer the whole side – a patch repair wouldn’t work. This meant another 7 – 10 days work. “Oh, God of Luthiery, why hast thou forsaken me ?” “A harsh lesson. Stop when thy body is tired,” he sayeth, “for I shall move the finishing tape beyond thy sight until thou learnest.”
At 5.30 pm I sought a local watering hole where succour and solace was to be found in the busom of the barmaid my peers.
Sleep – and let the repair begin.