Friday afternoon is a busy time for Herbert Love - Tobacconist and Malt Whisky. The surrounding lawyers and architects are preparing for their weekends of imminent gout, and a queue of pinstripe suits and over-inflated egos stretches out onto the street. So I'm already feeling conspicuous in checked shirt and beaten up Converse.

"Hi. Erm... This is a bit of an odd request, but..."

"Let me guess: you're looking for some empty cigar boxes."

"Ah, yeah. Do you...?"

"In the back. Just chuck a couple of quid in the charity box."

It started, as these things so often do, with a girl. As a teenager, a pretty girl with a penchant for black clothes and Keanu Reeves took me to see Bram Stoker's Dracula. Several times. It's not bad, surfer dude accents notwithstanding, but it was the bird-eating Renfield that really fascinated me.

"Do you know he's a musician? You'd probably like some of his stuff."

So I bought a copy of Swordfishtrombones - good name, good sleeve. Loved it. And it sparked something in my brain, an attraction to the lunatic fringes of music. Not for me the easy to and fro of verse and chorus, the spoon fed banter of the Radio One playlist. The harder to find, the harder to listen to, the more I liked it. Dissonance and feedback, Swell Maps and Les Rallizes Denudes.

And I did my resarch, filled my shelves with books from Paul Morley and Simon Reynolds. I was in bands that sound like Sonic Youth. I knew, as Kurt Cobain and Tom Waits did, that it all comes from the blues.

Lately, a lot of things have been pointing to it. The names of Leadbelly and Big Bill Broonzy keep coming up, though I've been resisting the cliche of a white man about to turn thirty listening to songs about trains, women and death I can't help but thinking it sounds like a lot of fun to play.

I made a Spotify playlist, which I sent to some friends. 'Fancy playing some skiffle?'

No joy.

I put an advert on Gumtree.

No joy.

Then, clicking about on the internet, I found myself here. Equal parts inspired, impressed and intimidated by the works of art in the galleries, I clicked the button that says *FREE PLANS*.

So that's how I found myself trying to stuff a chunk of 2"x1" into the back of a taxi. My fiancee wandered through to the living room at half two this morning;

"Christopher, are you sawing?"

I have hardly any tools, or woodworking experience. This is going to sound like a screaming animal.

I can't wait.