This Could Be Rock 'N' Roll by Tim Roux

gradually got better at both playing and writing and then one or two of the girls would start saying “That’s really good” to a few of my songs, especially ‘Breakdown’ and ‘Holy Lonely’ which I am even asked for now by some geriatric thirty-five year old whom I used to know once who has ended up in one of my gigs sheltering from the cold East wind that tears down the Humber.
    I think I have even forgotten my first gig. I am not sure I had one as such. I think I was in one of the Hessle pubs with my guitar and I started strumming for want of anything better to do and some friends asked me to keep playing, so I did five or six songs, and that was my first gig. Where was it? It was probably in Darley’s or somewhere embarrassing. I cannot remember. They should put up a plaque to remind me.
    I have never made enough out of my music to be full-time professional but eventually I did start doing paid gigs and had the brass to ask for money saying that I would bring my mates along with me. Then a guy, called Guy, had some recording equipment and offered to help me make an album and we did that. Absolutely crap album. Looked crap. Sounded crap. Sold like crap. I persuaded a few friends to buy it but I think that the CDs ended up mostly as miniature Frisbees. Anyway, shamelessly, we carried on until I got my own recording equipment which everybody has more or less nowadays and started experimenting with basic arrangements which is where I still am today.
    I’ve have only ever caused one fatality.
    About a year after I started learning the guitar I began practising to give my granddad a concert because he was always very sceptical of my abilities. “I’ll show him,” I said to myself. Anyway, after careful preparation where I ended up note perfect, and with a bit of coaxing, I managed to persuade my granddad to settle in his habitual armchair or at least not to leave it.
    “I’m going to play you a concert, Granddad,” I promised him.
    “Fair dos,” he replied, “but don’t make it too long. I have to go off and bet on the dogs shortly.”
    “Fifteen minutes, Granddad, that’s all,” I assured him.
    He smiled. “Well that seems well short of eternity. Carry on.”
    Well, everything went horribly wrong. I was so nervous that I don’t think I got a single note right, the guitar, which was only a cheap one in any case, slipped out of tune, and I got a frog stuck in my throat so every line was punctured by a loud “hhhhhuuuuhhhhmmmmm!” as I tried to clear it.
    After ten minutes of this chaotic cacophony, Granddad held up his hand. “Jake, my dear boy, I think we had better take a break. I need a breather. Any more of this and I think you’ll be the death of me.”
    “OK, Granddad. Thank you for listening.”
    Granddad winked. “I’m proud of you, Jake, for trying. You were probably just a bit nervous.”
    He spidered his arms behind him to push himself out of his armchair which was very deep set and began to leverage himself up. About halfway his face went bright red and started to bulge. He collapsed back into the chair, clutched his chest and lost consciousness.
    I was devastated. I leapt up and ran around the house screaming “I’ve just killed Granddad, I’ve just killed Granddad,” hysterically.
    Everybody came rushing towards me and then towards Granddad. Grandma knelt beside him, checked him over and wept silently. Mum and Dad did what they could to console me.
    “I’ve killed Granddad,” I repeated piteously.
    “I don’t think so, Jake,” Mum assured me. “He has had heart trouble for years. The doctors said recently that he didn’t have much longer to live. And he is very lucky. He died in his favourite armchair with his favourite grandchild playing him some beautiful music.”
    “It wasn’t beautiful, Mum, it was horrible. He asked me to stop.”
    “Perhaps he knew that he was ready to die in peace.”
    Grandma hobbled over to me. “Jake,” she said, “you mustn’t blame