The curse of the ukelele

Rupert walked down the street. One bag in each hand. Whistling softly. He went back home and a few minutes later, just the time for putting the shopping away, he went into the pub. His friends were there. So she was. Usually reading The Guardian or the Gazette. Sometimes alone, sometimes not.
Under the splendor of the moonlight, miles away from Honolulu Bay, Rupert sang this song.
If you kiss ukelele lady...
That weekend Rupert worked in the garden, read some Phillip Marlowe stories, amused himself with his new tecno gadgets.
And played the ukelele.
.