I ruddy love it.
I love it to the point that I got the words tattooed on my inner leg by a friend who'd never used a tattoo gun before. I considered that pretty Rock and Roll in itself. And it kind of was, up until it fell off.
You know, I could never play the guitar but many times I've vaguely attempted to start. My Dad and my Brother are really good at it so I felt like I should have a natural ability to pick it up and play. Sadly, life works a little differently. Fear not, Slash.
As keen blog followers or shop visitors will know, we have a peach of a guitar right here in store. It's a little weathered but the strings still seem to work. And as for being in tune, well, I used to be a fan of Scritti Politti - tune matters not. But just the feel of a guitar in my hands... I don't know, it gets those rich Rock and Roll juices flowing. Especially when I strike my best Bryan Adams pose and the sun is low in the sky.
I was having a little fantasy fun with this the other day. The mood had taken me, I think the mighty Crüe had just popped up on our in-store music player. The sun was sinking. My eyes glazed and like a man possessed by a dark Sabbathian Wizard, Rock took me. I grabbed the guitar, and disappeared into nearby dog poo alley, just down the road.
Silly boy.
Tom should know better than to mess with the fantasy at such a crucial moment. So it was entirely his fault, what happened next...
