Dear Mr Prosper

Why are you asking me these questions? If you want a mandolin, you fucking idiot, the sensible thing is to take it from a mandolin player. They travel about with the things slung across their backs as if the world were desperate to hear them pluck at strings. The truth is that music puts strange ideas in people’s heads. A little wine, a little playing, and leads to the darkest of places - like incest or even folk dancing. Good for them perhaps, but better for you, as instruments tend to be left lying about once the revelry begins. There are a few places where these musical wastrels gather, specially after dark. The ruins near the crossroads south of the bridge on the North Road. Can’t sleep for all the music drifting out of the place. Tithe Barn, of course. Idiots playing to other idiots. Mr Sweet’s shitty camp camp in the woods off the Southwood Road. The Well of Stars - Paul is always strumming himself off after dark. And he’s playing music too! Look there. Did I tell you Paul was once thrown off the bridge out of the Well after playing La Marseillaise more than fifty times in a row?