It’s a beautiful view from my hospital bed. I’m looking across fields to the village of Britford. The river Avon flows through it, apparently a haven for anglers. The whole area seems to be full of Chalk streams. Wildlife abounds. Kestrels and Buzzards hover and float outside my window. In the misty morning fog my heart’s a pumping. A bit different waking to the sounds of Lewisham, I’m not sure which I prefer. The Catford Centre is certainly no Rainbows Wall but it has its own charm. Perhaps I’m getting homesick. The smell of manure and green green grass, can’t compete with Fried Chicken and weed.
I’m desperate to pick up an instrument to see if my hand still works the same way. I’m told it should do. By some quirk of fate it might have improved it. I could tap the solo to Brown Eyed Girl… or should never the Van meet? Who cares, it’s worth a punt.
I cast my mind back to guitars I’ve bought and sold. Punts, gambles, disasters. Travels to Crouch End for a 76 Les Paul, Box Hill for a 87 Strat, Epsom for a Mapleglo 330, Brighton for a 335. Numbers and names I can’t help thinking about.
My wistful wanderings are rudely interrupted by the rattle of the sluice trolley and the news that I’m being moved What?, doesn’t the NHS know that I’m creating stardust here? “Sorry Mr Wallis your wee bottles full and we are moving you to the bowels of the hospital”. I wish he’d used another analogy as the laxative and lunchtime curry are playing merry havoc in my colon.
The Doctors look at my wound and decide I need another week of bed rest while the flesh heals on the foot. A very nasty break. I confer and begin to drift away again.. Behind the stadium,… Lewisham Bus Station……
Wait, before I go down the old mine, I perk myself up by laughing at the bass players haircut and general demeanour in this video. The tune’s got Dicky Betts and Chuck Leavell playing on it. Players. A bit long winded but beautiful tones and uplifting piano solo.
Now where did I put that bed pan?
