Antique Guitar

 

Medieval antique guitar found in abandoned fridge on top of an oak tree in a meadow somewhere very far from here some years ago. Granted, not an excellent provenance, but it was dark and raining at the time. However, a medieval minstrel was noticed leaving the scene riding a motorbike moments earlier singing a lyric dating back to Chaucer's era.

Wrong Decisions

 

Do you ever make the wrong decision and regret is afterwards. Happens to me often. I decided to improve myself so I went to the local college to enrol on an evening course; one evening a week. I had a choice of Emergency First Aid or Cookery. All the other courses were fully booked. 

I enrolled on the cookery classes to impress the family like those TV cooks do. A few weeks in the course, as I was leaving, a young lady walking ahead of me broke the heel of her shoe. The heel just came off. Her leg twisted and she fell to the ground in pain. She started crying. I approached her and got down to the ground beside her. I did not know what to do. I offered to cook her an omelette. She said something rude I'd rather not repeat here.

If only I had taken the First Aid course I could have given her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

There was this old lady standing at the bus stop hopping from foot to foot and watching up the road. It was obvious she wanted to cross the street but was too scared of the heavy traffic. Being the gentleman, I held her by the arm and said, "let's cross together madam!"

I walked her across the road. She was generally reluctant and kept looking back. She was obviously scared but I encouraged her along. When we got to the other side she hit me on the head with her umbrella. 

"You made me miss my bus, you idiot!" she said, "I was in a hurry to get home to go to the toilet. If I pee myself again it will be your fault!"

I gave up the cookery course. No one appreciated my food except the dog. I took up a Health and Safety course instead. The instructor was a young engineer. The first day of the course he had his arm in bandages. He lectured us on the dangers of falling off a ladder. He said that when working at heights you must always have someone hold the ladder for you in case it slips. He explained, "Don't do like me. When holding the ladder for someone, if he happens to fall, move away quickly in case he falls on you!"

I gave up that course too. There was another place available in the Self-Defence course. They advised me it would be useful in case I am attacked or mugged in the street on a dark night. Good idea, I thought. It is always dark at night where we live.

They taught us karate. Breaking planks of wood and bricks with a chopping motion of your hand. It hurt a bit but was effective. I got good at it.

One night I was attacked by a mugger. He took me by surprise. He hit me from behind and as I dropped to the ground he hit me again and again and took my wallet. As I lay there on the ground I saw a brick. I broke it with one chopping motion.

I complained to the college. They moved me to carpentry class. A few days later I was mugged by another thug on my way home. I offered to build him some shelves and he let me go. 

I always wanted to learn to play the guitar. I enrolled on that course too. By this time the college was getting a little fed up of me changing courses so often; but they obliged especially when some people had left their courses creating vacancies.

The instructor taught me how to use the plectrum. It’s a small triangular bit of plastic used to pluck the strings of the guitar. It’s easy to use, according to my instructor. Hold the plectrum with your fingers and pluck the strings one at a time. He showed me how to use it and then asked me to try.

I wish I didn’t … and so did he. I plucked the string so hard that the small piece of plastic flew out of my hand and hit the instructor in the eye. What he said next could not be put into music no matter what instrument you use. It was a string of unrepeatable words, none rhyming nor musically melodic, and hardly likely to be ever used in any lyrics I can think of.

Whether I liked it or not, the college moved me to Art Classes. Painting, drawing, pottery ... that sort of thing.

The first lesson I attended we had to paint a nude. I did not know what to do. Should I go or should I stay? The instructor sat us round in a semi-circle whilst the model got ready behind a screen. When he removed the screen ... ... I recognised the naked lady as someone from work!!!

Musical Me

(That's me trying to play the guitar)

I’ve always wanted to be able to play a musical instrument.

I started with something simple – the harmonica. All you have to do is suck and blow and suck and blow as you move the instrument left and right in your mouth. It was fun and easy. Sadly, it made the cat climb up the curtains and the dog howl whilst the rest of the family screamed at me all at once.

So I tried taking lessons at playing the guitar. We started with tuning exercises. I had to hold the strings tightly against the neck of the guitar with the left hand and pick at the strings with the right hand!

The problem was that my left hand did its job all right. But the right hand kept moving up and down frantically a few millimetres away from the strings. When the instructor suggested I move my hand a little closer somehow my fingers got all tangled up in the strings with a horrendous sound.

I just could not co-ordinate both hands to do what they were supposed to. Sometimes my left hand moved up and down on the guitar neck, whilst the other hand pushed the fingers into that hole you have in the main body of the instrument.

My patient instructor suggested I use a plectrum or pick. That’s a small triangular piece of plastic which you hold between your fingers to pick at the guitar strings.

As I tried to hit the strings with the plastic bit it flew out of my hand and hit the instructor straight in the eye. Would you believe it? It could have gone anywhere … but NOOOOO !!! In my case it went straight in his eye.

(I drew the cartoon. Honest truth!)

He was taken to hospital and the rest of the class blamed me for a ruined guitar lesson. I mean … why not blame the stupid plastic triangle?

I gave up the guitar and decided to self-teach myself the violin instead. No plectrums or picks … just a long stick which you move up and down over the strings and sound comes out.

I bought myself an expensive violin and decided to learn at home using a book and a CD I got from the library.

It made some good sounds I tell you. The cat still climbed at the top of the curtain and the dog hid in his kennel. The rest of the family chose to go out shopping instead!

It was then that I noticed that whilst playing the violin I had a tendency to walk up and down the room instead of standing still. At first I did not know why I was doing this; then I realized that the music I was playing had been written for the bagpipes.

So I sold my old Stradivarius at a garage sale and used the proceeds to buy a set of bagpipes and drums.

I practised for hours in our garden sometimes marching up and down with the bagpipes, and at other times using the big drum whilst playing back a recording of my bagpipes practice sessions.

I became really good at the pipes and drums and could soon play Chopin’s piano concertos as well as a number of other famous tunes written by all the well known composers. Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, Michelangelo … I could play them all.

However I noticed that our neighbours had become a little unfriendly and somewhat uncharitable.

One suggested that I play far away but I could not find the sheet music to that tune.

I tried practising indoors but there was not enough room to march up and down. So I walked on the treadmill whilst playing the bagpipes and watching TV at the same time. As an extra incentive I put a glass of whisky at the front of the treadmill to keep me walking towards it whilst playing the pipes.

I sometimes practiced in the garden at night so as not to wake up the rest of the family.

A jovial neighbour always opened his window and shouted “Stop banging that **** drum at three in the morning!” What a laugh that was!

I could even play “Silent Night” on the big drum, you know. For some strange reason our priest refused to let me play it on the drum at the Christmas Carol Concert.

I eventually gave up on the bagpipes due to several letters received from various solicitors. They were all written in the same threatening tone of voice … including the one sent on behalf of my wife.

The thing is … I love music. Putting a piece of paper over a comb and humming quietly doesn’t sound quite the same. Does it?