News and Rants

Sat in the window of the Lord Roberts like a pot plant watching the world go by from my bar stool. , Damp grey February evening , almost a promise of light nights to come. Freddie Mercury types loitering and casting the odd glance. Camp little boozer in Nottingham’s Lace...

Just been in a boozer called the Dog & Scroat, as big as my shed, watching a three piece do Zeppelin covers for ageing bikers. Bulging bellies, bandana wrapped round a chrome dome. Sweating under the heavy old leather. Whole bunch is knackered. One of them’s had an acid trip...

Just comatose on the sofa with a proper dose of Plague, none of that light weight man flu, this is a full-on near death experience with symptoms only alleviated by ginger and lemon tea while chewing on willow bark – source of aspirin, old indian trick. That’s North American Indian....

Saturday afternoon painting the shop. I used to spend Saturdays totally chilled one way or another. Now I’m in a shop, a space that was just a lock-up a few months ago, on a Saturday, I can’t believe it. Strange how life takes these unexpected turns. I hate painting. Done...

Late night, bored surfing the ether I spot an ES 335 up for auction, no it’s a 345. Easy mistake, they’re all red and roundish, usually. Sometimes a bargain’s to be had but looking closer this was not only owned and played by a Mr James Marshall Hendrix, among a...

Assuming you are still alive and having carefully extracted your guitar from some orifice, following an ill advised “relicing cream” suggestion (see some earlier drivel I wrote), have a thought on this : I’ve just been reading one of those glossy monthly guitar publications – “Repetitive Guitar Bollocks”. Next to...

I‘ve just had to remove a scratch plate for a bit of tinkering with a customer’s Strat. A lovely white pearloid number with a Custom Shop logo to the rear. What a mess. Warped and twisted, lifted at the edges. Jammed tight around the pickups, preventing any adjustment. A piece...

Christmas away. Heavy weather in Cornwall, there’s another storm brewing – don’t travel says the Weather Man. Bollocks we’re off, its Christmas. Gutters groaning. High winds, something tapping on the roof. Santa’s been and gone, blown home with a tail wind. A walk on the beach, a different beach. Glistening,...