“Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses”
“Desperado” – The Eagles.
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When I was young, I wo
uld watch my aunt enviously as she played her guitar. I was a beautiful Yamaha model with a wine, floral Pick Guard hugging the Sound Hole. It belonged to her brother before her but was passed on when he died in a tragic accident at a young age. I had to wait until I was ten or twelve (I don’t remember exactly) before I was gifted a guitar of my own on my birthday. I remember the excitement, the desire to learn how to play and the over-sized white case that came with it.
I spent the next few years calling to my aunts house, at every opportunity, on the route home from school. I learned slowly to play with a degree of skill and accomplishment. Mostly we played folk music and country and western. It didn’t matter, I loved it all. There was a very close bond between me and my aunt and her husband. He, unfortunately, passed away prematurely. I think of him sometimes. He was a gent.
As I got older, my taste in music expanded, and I wanted to play rock music. So I took a job working in my uncles barber shop and saved to buy a second hand electric guitar for Xmas. It cost £60 which was a lot of money at the time. My parents provided the necessary amplifier as a gift.
I played that guitar all through my college years. It was the only entertainment I had in my flat, save for a small radio/cassette player. It accompanied me through good times and bad and I never tired of playing.
They say that when you buy a child a book, you give them the gift of reading for life. Well, it is exactly the same if you buy a musical instrument. The rewards of creatively mastering an instrument are life-long.
I find playing the guitar therapeutic. It calms me when I am anxious and afraid. When angry I can belt out a tune. The sounds I make can drown out the voices in my head and bring me some hard-earned peace.
Before I was admitted to hospital, I hadn’t strummed the guitar in a long while. Now I play every day, usually more than one sitting. Playing has become part of my recovery. I need to make a regular daily habit of it.
There is a music room in the hospital which is well stocked with instruments and free to use. Rumour has, it that U2 donated the instruments. It seems plausible and adds a certain charm to playing them.
I’m obsessed with the idea of buying a new one. I’m never satisfied with what I’ve got. When I’m elated, I always overspend on things I don’t really need. I already have a perfectly good guitar at home. But it is like a spending obsession. I try to resist but normally I fail. We’ll wait and see what happens.
