As a 13 year old my passion was punk (hence the home-made "Clash" tattoo). The pocket money paid for a catalogue Satelite Les Paul copy, a Clash songbook and a chord dictionary. Armed with these, the metal and glam from elder brothers' vinyl collections, a nascent obsession with Lou Reed and the Velvets together with the constant drip-feed of blues and eclecticism served up on BBC radio by Alexis Korner and John Peel respectively, I found an enduring creative outlet.
Fast-forward a quarter century through relationships, drugs, mental illness, incarceration, rehabilitation and the creative outlet has remained, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. A source of joy and frustration, a tangible record of achievement, ability, failure and inadequacy. The internet tempts us to throw our creative endeavours out into the ether, to be appreciated or denigrated but mostly ignored by the masses.