The Ship’s Piano

Earlier this evening a dear friend of mine took me and his son to a village up river to celebrate the marriage of a local farmer to his longtime partner.

The half hour journey was punctuated by the bickering of my companions, who managed to pick holes in everything either of them said or did.

I was used to it, but it always upset me, because it brought back memories of how I seldom had a disagreement with my son, who was set to take my place when I retired from the Business.

However, this was not to be, as he died aged 21 of a cerebral aneurysm as me and his fiance fought to resuscitate him.

It was good to see the locals who filled the pub to drink the health of the happy couple.

After half an hour or so, I found myself standing beside the piano, it's lid was closed, and on it was a framed picture with the words:

'please do not play this piano'.