Don’t dare forget. Love is like a violin. Didn’t Ken Dodd tell us? The illustrious, the indefatigable. He of the unkempt mop.
Utter tosh? No, Doddy has reached into our hearts again, into the romantic in us. Like an old song. What’s bringing him back is the touching revelation that after two years a stolen Stradivarius violin has been recovered in a police raid on a warehouse in Bulgaria.
You never know what you’ll find in Bulgaria, you’re thinking. Anyway, the 300-year-old instrument, worth a million, has been returned to its careless owner, a Korean. I’ve always thought a bugle is the preferred instrument in Korea but you’d need to check with the Argylls or Black Watch.
My archivist tells me that old Strad himself was a bit of a lad. He fathered 11 children. To boot, a football team.
All of which kind of puts Nicola Benedetti’s gas at a peep. Has she had her picture in the Korean papers yet? While we’re talking music, I should tell you I was accomplished on the fiddle myself.
I gave up music, opting for football. I was to discover, though, there was no getting away from fiddles, having hoarded my Ken Dodd albums. Doddy, by the way, hopes to get back to Edinburgh this year.
Afterwords . . .
. . . Posthumous withering words from Orson Welles who apparently didn’t have a good word for anybody. On Bogart, for example: “Humphrey was a second-rate actor, a fascinating character who captured the imagination of the world but never gave a good performance in his life. He told me when he was making Casablanca that ‘I’m in the worst picture in have ever been in’.”