Imagine there’s No heaven

When I was 11 I started guitar lessons.

We all filed in to the new guitar shop with various levels of guitar. Mine was my cousin’s and she had bought it on holiday in spain.

It was definitely not the most expensive; the wood was not best, and the strain of the strings were pulling the machine head towards the body (see I remembered the names).

There was a little hole in the neck and if I strummed heavily sawdust would come out.

The teacher asked us what we would
Like to learn from the charts... I knew what I wanted. Bye Bye Baby.