If I ever needed a stronger reason to despise my old habit, to truly want to burn every British American tobacco plant to the ground, then here it is:
This morning I heard the news about my favourite rhythm guitarist, Malcolm Young - from AC/DC, better, than Keith Richards, Chuck Berry, better even than his younger brother Angus, the more wider known Young brother famous for his schoolboy suit and duck walk.
Turns out my favourite guitar player in the world has reportedly suffered a stroke about 3 weeks ago, and when turning up for rehearsals for the 40th anniversary tour where the band were planning 40 shows in 40 countries, realised he'd lost the required motor skills to actually play the guitar tracks correctly. He has a blood clot in the brain, brought on by the stroke. Malcolm is/was a heavy smoker.
Which means:
The end of AC/DC.
It's Malcolm's band.
He's not dead, thankfully, but cannot perform that magic anymore.
And I am gutted squared.
Truly truly sad. For Malcolm, his family, ultimately, for Rock'n'Roll music.
This one is a true great, people.
Sod it. I'm off for a whiskey... A Gentleman Jack I think...
