The recent whereabouts of Little Ebba

So, I went back to London for a couple of days. It was about time, even though the coat of paint that I left my affairs in wasn't nearly as dry as I had hoped for. But to cut the crust from the sandwich - I now got all my guitars back and I found that jacket with the leopard lapells I've been lookin' for.

Obviously I've been worried about little Ebba and her pacemakers and whatnots. I mean, going from one phone call a week to nothing in three months can upset even the strongest digestion system. So I decided to go see her when I was there, to ask what was up and what was down y'know.

Got off of the 205 about nine thirty in the evening and headed for her building. Now I know what you're thinkin' - she's old and maybe already went to bed. But no, not little Ebba. She doesn't go to bed until about midnight I know that. But when I walked up to her building I realised that I forgot to add her number to my new cell phone, so I wouldn't be able to call her. And I soon realised that there is no buzzer at the front door. In front of me is a UK standard lock with a code attached to it.

Now I'm gonna drop some knowledge on you right here that might be useful if you're stranded in the not-so-fancy quarters of East London. If there is a door code, it's more than often a four digit one. And unless the building is new or well looked after, they probably don't change the code. Actually, chances are that the code is something related to the house, like the year the house was built.

I don't know enough about modern housing architecture to be able to tell how old a house is just by looking on it. But I know for a fact that she lives in a pre-dominantly jewish area that during the blitz was severely bombed, so most of it has probably been built up again in the late 40s and 50s. I started tapping "1945" and worked my way up. I hit luck at "1962" and soon I stood outside her door pressing the bell.

"One minute! Just give me one minute and I'll be with you" she yelled from the other side of the door.

Followed by a brief "hello" was a cloud of marijuana smoke coming out the door when she opened. I asked her why she hadn't called and she just shrugged. Offered me a smoke. Talked some about how Aaron (her cat) wasn't feeling too well. And soon everything was back to normal, with me sitting by her piano and she parked in the sofa, reminiscing about the sweet old days.

I showed her what I'd learnt since last time. I don't play it as good as the Killer, but when I do I will post a video of me instead of him.