The Life Of a Plucker

It all started, when I was 13 - newly arrived in Vereeniging, Souf Efrica - dragged along with my Mum Jean and my Dad Ted.
(Ed's Note - more to follow here.)

One day, me big brother Eddie spluttered home on his "Honda 50cc" road hog. Hanging off his back, in the best of Hells Angels tradition, was a clapped out old guitar with one of the tuners broken which was "donated" to him from one of his closest friends that owed him money.

It was a no-name "Made in Hong Kong" special which in those days - 1969 - probably went for about R5-00 and was more than likely purchased from the local Greek or Pork & Cheese cafe. It was of course, superbly strung with refurbished Eskom power cables.
Unfortunately, being a cheap and 'orrible make of guitar, the neck had a long swooping type of bend in it that made tuning a real ball ache. (Ed's Note - This is from someone that has not placed his sweaty little hands on anywhere near a musical instrument in his life before.)

From this day on, the shit started...........

(Ed's Note - to be continued...............)