Old guitar players fade away fast
But in spite of our differences, Glenn and I did have one thing in common, namely our love of the guitar.
The last month has seen a lot of guitar lovers falling by the wayside.
So much so, that down at the school gates, I recently received an important piece of advice from one of my neighbours.
“You better be careful, Denny,” my neighbour said ominously.
“You better put away that old guitar of yours, don’t you go too like the rest of them”.
And while at first I greeted Eleanor’s wise words with laughter, when I got home and was walking the bogs a little later in the day, her words retuned to haunt me.
It was then that I came to realise the woman had been talking absolute sense, as usual.
There I was with this ticking time bomb strapped to my chest, playing away, oblivious to the danger.
And they say farming is dangerous?
Well, it now seems farming is a walk in the park, in comparison to playing the guitar.
Eleanor, you might well have saved my life.
So today I’m announcing my retirement from the active playing of the guitar.
Never again will I attempt to play a tune of any description.
And not only that, but I would also advise any other farmers who are involved in the dangerous pursuit of knocking tunes out of a guitar to desist from the practice immediately.
Get rid of the six strings and get back to the four-pronged pike, it’s a lot safer.
Of course, some well versed in music might advise me to take up the banjo instead, as it has less strings than a guitar, and so my odds of dying might be reduced.
Well to hell with that. I don’t want to die at all.
So I’m staying away from all stringed instruments and implements of all descriptions, including dental floss.
And if my teeth go bad, so be it.
At least I’ll be alive.
Guitar players dropping off in their sixties is far too young, if you ask me.
In farming, a man in his sixties is only a whippersnapper, a fellow still wet behind the ears.
In farming, one really only gets going right when you hit the 70 mark.
Of course, a life lived on the fast lane that usually comes with musical success, may also have been a contributing factor in the deaths of the famed guitarists.
And my good fortune in this regard is that in all the time I played guitar, I never once tasted success in any way.
Indeed I was extremely unpopular.
And it is this fact that has probably saved my life.
Nevertheless, the news that I’m putting away the old guitar has hit those who play music with me hard.
“But I got a boom box for Christmas,” one of my friends said to me when he heard my sad tidings.
“It makes a big noise,” says he.
“A big noise my backside,” I replied.
“Don’t you know your boom box could well be the thing that makes me huge in the music scene! Your boom box could have me in a pine box in no time.”
“Get rid of the dirty thing.” says I. “The show is over.”
