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gs in the garage behind his shop in Hanwell at the time, that is neither here nor there.So, regarding those ukuleles.There were four Sumerian Kynges back then. The original Fad Four. [1] There was Rob, who would later become an advertising copywriter. Neil, who would later movie-produce. Myself, who would go on to find fame and misfortune in oh so many fields.And then there was Toby.And Toby was the odd one.It was many years later that the rest of The Sumerian Kynges came to realise just how odd Toby really was. But by then the original line-up was no more. And it was all too late.But more of that anon.So back to those ukuleles.‘Ukes are not cool,’ said Rob. ‘Harps are cool, but not ukes.’‘Harps?’ This raised voice belonged to Neil. ‘We cannot afford a jews harp, let alone a real harp.’‘Harp as in harmonica,’ said Rob. ‘Do try to be cool, Neil, really.’Neil did grindings of his teeth. I came to recognise these grindings as ‘the grindings of discontent’.‘We can afford nothing,’ said Neil. ‘We are poor.’‘Tea chests and broom handles,’ said Toby. ‘They cost next to nothing. We could be a skiffle band.’‘There is a steel band called The Skiffle Bunch,’ said Neil, who knew about all kinds of what was then called ‘ethnic’ music. ‘Steel pan maestros. Genius.’‘Get some cheese!’ said Rob, as it was what he used to say when he had nothing to say. So to speak.This conversation was being held in Toby’s dad’s shed, at the bottom of Toby’s dad’s and mum’s and Toby’s too back garden.It was where we went for band practice.For lack of instrumentation, it was presently where we went for a cappella vocal practice.I entered this shed at this very moment.A veritable Duke of Cool.My hair was all ‘gassed back’ with Brylcreem. My school shirt wa