I’d like to talk to you about talking to yourself. Do I do it? Yes, occasionally.
Mostly, it’s when something goes wrong at DIY, like dropping a screw which always – always – disappears, and I look up at the heavens and say facetiously to the angels: “Thanks very much, folks. That was a big help.”
I talk to the wee garden birds, of course, and to my Lord of the Rings figurines. But that’s different. They’re other people.
When I do talk to myself, perhaps out in the garden, telling myself to “Get on with it, Rab!”, I feel a pang of guilt, because it used to be the case that it was meant to indicate you were going off your onion.
Paul McCartney talks to his guitars too
Then it turned out that nearly everybody did it, at least when everybody else was out of earshot.
I’ve been reading about young people doing it, and also of Sir Paul McCartney talking to his guitars, particularly any he’s neglected to play of late.
He apologises to them, as do I to mine, though I tend to say: “Sorry, old boy. I’ve no idea how to play the guitar.”
But, as with the famous former Beatle, I also feel guilty about neglecting older guitars when I get a new plaything (I have 11), and I’ll say a consoling word to them.
Sir Paul says: “When you’re alone, the guitar is your confidante.”
I don’t think I’d go that far. I don’t say to my guitars: “I still worry about going bald, you know.” Or: “I fear I eat too any chips.”
But I suppose guitars are very personal, right enough.
I’ve had a few of mine for decades. Several are broken, and my attempts to fix them ended up as Rab Repairs which, as you know, only make matters worse.
I ordered new machine heads for one recently and said to it: “I’ve ordered new machine heads for you.” And it said: “I ken. You already told me.”
So many fantastic guitar players
Sometimes, I’ll get annoyed and shout (at me, not the guitar): “For God’s sake, can you never play anything without hitting the wrong string?”
Or: “I don’t know why I bother.”
One reason for that is the plethora of fantastic players out there now, most of whom don’t have record contracts and don’t make a living at it.
They play the old masters – Page, Hendrix, Blackmore etc – better than the old masters themselves.
The idea of the rare six-string genius is now redundant. There are millions of them out there. And they’ll never be famous.
Conversations with myself
It’s like playing the lute in the Middle Ages. Loads of people did it, and many (including kings and queens) were very good at it.
But they didn’t think: ‘I’m going to try and put out an album and make a living at this.’
Still, I tell myself: “I play the guitar simple for my own pleasure and to relieve the stresses of the day.”
Then I tell myself: “You’re talking to yourself again.”
Then I reply: “No, I’m not.”
Then I say: “You’re going off your onion, mate.” “Am not.” “Are.”
“Right, I’m not talking to you ever again.” “Good.” “Aye.”
See? I’ve always got to get The Last Word in.
