You could call me the Incredible Sulk. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. Oh, to look at that photo, all hands on head and diamanté love chain, you might imagine I was a jolly person to be with. And sometimes I am. But when I lose it, I lose it, if you know what I mean.
That nursery rhyme about the girl with the curl who when she was good she was very, very good and when she was bad she was horrid? That just about sums it up. The other week, for example, I was expecting a gang of people around for a buffet-style dinner. I had loaded up with batons of bread and cheese and salami and olives from the French market in the Docklands. The prices the French stall-holders were charging must have had them laughing all the way to le bank. All I can say is their goose would have been well and truly stuffed had they tried it with the good denizens of the Dordogne.
Alors. I cycled happily away with three bags swinging from each handlebar. By the time I got home I was panicking a bit. Three hours to go before seven people arrived for food. I was planning to do some class of a thing with aubergine and goats' cheese because someone I knew had been to a restaurant and enjoyed it for their starter and it sounded easy when she explained how to do it over the phone. But I was a bit frazzled. I needed help.
Upstairs my co-host was sanding a door. I could hear the steady rhythm of sandpaper and sighs. I asked him, trying to keep my voice steady, how long he would be. Half an hour, he said. Half an hour later he was on another door, wiping dried plaster from it.
A number of things had become a priority for me. Tidying a place that was in tatters. Washing salad leaves. Doing creative things with slices of aubergine and extra virgin olive oil. All of this seemed important. Wiping plaster from doors did not.
I'm not going to lie to you. What followed wasn't pretty. It reminded me of the worst kind of childhood tantrums. Those long choking sobs that felt good for a while, as long as you were in control and not so good when you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. My co-host, wisely, had escaped to clear a gutter or something. Given my state of mind I had no choice but to cancel.
If you ever find yourself in a similar position, feel free to steal my choice of cancellation text message. It goes something like this: "Sorry for the short notice, don't feel well, can't do dinner tonight xx."
It was true. I didn't feel well. I couldn't do dinner tonight. I should have been relieved but all I felt when I looked at the kitchen full of food was rage. And then I picked up my guitar.
I've written before about my long relationship with that instrument. About my basic knowledge of chords and lack of discipline when it comes to practice. I know how to play about three songs, two of which I wrote myself. If there isn't G, A, D and, at a push, Em involved, forget it.
Despite my lack of prowess, strumming seems to calm me down. For this and other reasons, I am delighted that Ireland is about to host, for the first time, its very own guitar festival run by 24-year-old Alec O'Leary. Alec believes the guitar is much misunderstood. Some people (guilty as charged) seem to think of it as accompaniment and forget that as a solo instrument it takes some beating. At a party the other day, I watched a man position his guitar so it rested on his lap. He plucked the most beautiful music from it that no words, no lyrics were necessary. It was as complex as Chopin and every bit as inspiring.
The highlight of the festival is a master class by John Williams, one of the world's greatest classical guitarists. You had to audition to take part in the actual class but there are still tickets available to watch the master and pupils at work. There are concerts and classes, workshops and seminars. I was given a two-hour lesson myself recently. Stretched stiff little fingers over my first bar chord. Learned how to be more creative, to take a break from the chords, to experiment more freely with different sounds.
So if you ever find yourself in a similar position, feel free to steal my choice of reverse cancellation text message. It goes something like this: "I know I am an eejit and it's short notice but if you still want to come to dinner, please do." So they did. Music soothed this savage beast. Roll on the guitar festival.
• The Walton's Guitar Festival of Ireland takes place from June 30th to July 4th. For more information log onto www.guitarfestivalofireland.com or phone 059-9146287