This past week I had to say goodbye to two faithful old companions.
The first was my fault. At Easter, I took my lovely 6-string guitar out into the driving rain to play at an early morning outdoor service. It’s never been the same since, and in particular, won’t keep tune. So, after 25 years of pleasure and pain and every emotion in between, and nine months of umming and ahhing, I’ve replaced it. I feel like a traitor. That old guitar has been brilliant. It’s seen me through some hard times, and accompanied me through many good times. Sometimes I’ve thrashed it as hard as I could while splattering it with tears and finger-blood. Other times it was sweet and gentle. It just took what I gave and was always ready for more. Until I got it soaked, idiot that I am.
My trusty bike was simply old and worn out. I’ve tried hard to keep it going, but it got to the stage where it was making less and less sense to keep spending money on it. It’s been a faithful workhorse over fifteen years, for nine of which it was my only means of private transport. It carried all three children (mostly not at the same time), groceries, books, timber, small trees … and me, of course, for miles and miles and miles.
Their successors have a lot to live up to.
It’s amazing how attached I have become to a wooden box and an arrangement of steel tubing.