Irene

I acquired this quaint little mandolin-banjo from a folk festival in August 2005, it hails from the thirties, was owned by a witchy-fingered crone called Irene who apparently had bread where her hair should have been...anyway, I purchased it from Irene's nephew (himself comfortably septugenarian), the action is a little gaping, and the strings quite abrasive, making it a tricky player, still, the determined fretter can yield some truly lovely little sounds if he so cares, and if he cares so little about his fingertips.