My brother was a guitarist. From when he was about 12 until his mid-30s he was always playing. From school bands to ‘the big time’ which was a really great pub band called, for some reason, but there’s really never a ‘reason’, the T-Boys. They played gigs all around, but mainly they had their ‘residency’ at the 3 Rabbits in Manor Park on Monday nights. I had football training on Monday nights but I never missed them, driving like a madman (as if there’s any other way) to get their second set at 10.15. It was a great pub. And ‘great’ in the East End, means ‘dodgy’. Run by a father and son called ‘Big Ron’ and ‘Little Ron’ respectively. Both loved the T-Boys because they brought in loads of people to drink. And it was like a party every Monday as everyone was a ‘regular’.

And my brother was a quiet man. Not like his younger brother who is FUCKING LOUD AND LAIRY!!! He was quiet and liked to be in the background, in the shadows. And yet, put a guitar round his neck and he was Eric Clapton. Jeff Beck. Tony Iomi. But always wearing black and standing way off-centre. By day he worked as a pharmacist and at night, he did a sort of Clarke Kent and morphed into ‘rock god’. A role which I would have embraced, abused and monetised until the last joint was smoked, the last bottle of Jack emptied, the last groupie turfed out. Unfortunately I lacked only any kind of musical talent. The rest; acting like a strutting tosser superstar, I had that nailed.

This was his guitar. I remember when he bought it. It was a big day. A watershed moment. There was life as a guitarist before the Stratocaster, and life afterwards. He’d wanted one for a while. In fact it’s probably safe to say that any rock guitarist anywhere wants a ‘Strat’. There are Les Pauls and Telecasters and Flying Vs out there in rockland, but this Fender is the defining instrument of the genre. And he bought this one. I’m guessing (cos it’s all a blur) between 40 and 45 years ago.

When he died last year, I decided I wanted it. And now I have it. Just looking at it makes me happy/sad. In a good way. It was so much a part of him in those years.

So now the big question. Do I use it as a shrine, as a beautiful artefact? Or do I try to play it? Were Rich around, he’d doubtless say ‘don’t you fucking dare! Look at it all you like but don’t presume to apply your tone-deaf cackhandedness to that wonderful instrument’. And as I never ever listened to my brother, I’ve had it tuned, borrowed an amp and its ZZTop here I come! (God help the neighbours). (God help Mel).

I’ve booked the O2 for my first gig. Next March. Should be plenty of time.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx