PRS Silver Sky Midnight Rose 

Right. Sit down. Let me tell you a story about a man, a guitar, and the crumbling of a life he thought he understood.

Six months ago I had a wife, a house, and a guitar. Now I have a guitar, a single bed with Spider-Man sheets that are NOT mine, and a mother who microwaves everything including, once, a yoghurt. The wife is gone. The house is gone. The dog sided with her, which honestly hurt more than the divorce papers. This guitar is the last man standing and even IT is being sold, so really nobody made it out of this alive.

PRS Silver Sky. Midnight Rose. Look at that colour. It's the colour of a sunset over a life I no longer have. Plays beautifully. Sounds beautiful. Everything about it works better than my marriage did.

Couple of dings on the body from being well loved, much like me before I got emotionally flattened in a Zoom mediation call. The dings give it character. I too have character now. Character is just what you call damage when you're trying to sell something.

I was going to keep this, write some big cathartic breakup album, really pour my soul into it, Grammy speech and everything, thanking my mum, thanking my lawyer, thanking nobody else specifically. But then I remembered John Mayer already wrote "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" and there is simply no topping that, so what's the point, my art is dead before it began. He got there first. He always gets there first. This is twice now he's ruined my life without knowing I exist.

Reluctant sale doesn't even cover it. I have physically picked this guitar up to put it in the case for a viewing and just sat back down again. My mum has started knocking twice before entering, like I'm a Victorian widow.

No lowballers, I will know, I will feel it in my soul which currently has no other feelings left to spare. No couples viewing together — last people who did that, I started crying about my own wedding day and had to excuse myself to "check the loft" for a guitar stand that does not exist.

Collection only.