Last month, I invited myself to Link's home studio, in Cologne.
In 1967 the jazz saxophonist John Surman was living in the same road and on passing and hearing the music, he recalled, "I invited myself in".
Since I, owing to my nosiness, had been a witness to the incident, I invited myself to the meeting with the police and my neighbors.
I invited myself over, at once, to investigate Mr. Cohen's recommendation — and to lighten the awful burden on the Nelson-Blackwoods.
So I invited myself to the wooded Fairfield home of the woman, Laura Spector, rang the bell and beseeched her: "Teach me not to hate".
But my curiosity was piqued so I invited myself along to his evening class and joined on the spot.
One afternoon in early 1973, hearing what sounded like an auditorium full of laughter roaring out of my older sister Maryam's room, I invited myself in -- we weren't big on manners, feral children that we were.
But if someone were reading anything by Albert Camus I would not only talk to them, I would invite myself to sit with them until they looked up to talk to me.
There was a limit, after all, to how many times I could invite myself to other people's houses and, then too, I began to grow tired of being a guest, singing for my supper.
