Now, I had to figure out how to play the damn thing. I’d been nylon strings and wide classical necks since my first guitar. Three finger, four finge... and flamenco picking was what I knew ... not that I was very good.“Yeah, I’ll just bet,” I said.“Bet what,” said Johnny.“Just talking to the voices in my head,” I said.“You and Karen,” John said.“What?”“She talks to herself all the time.” Johnny said, “She talked to the ceiling when she bought the Lottery winner ... or so the story goes.”I burst. Obviously I wasn't really going to go through with it. Gran was expecting a sexual partner to turn up on Saturday, not her grandson. It went without saying that I couldn't sleep with my grandmother. But an evil little voice kept nagging away in my head, asking whether I would prefer her to make a date with some complete stranger, who might just knock her on the head and rob her blind. And as for sleeping with her, i****t was only a stupid social taboo. What harm could it do -- she was hardly. More

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