Music was my first love and it will be my last

I can, given the right inspiration write a good yarn or two, and usually have no problem expressing myself through the written word, but musically I am about as useless as a for sale sign stuck into a wheelbarrow full of sand in the Sahara.
Yet I love music, and often thought of myself years ago as poet who could write the lyrics that could change the world. All I needed to do was to learn to play an instrument of some sort.
The story though begins way back when I was a five year old boy and ready start my musical career off, all I needed was the right encouragement and guidance. I found however a conspiracy to halt my budding future before it had even a chance to take off.
It started with a glockenspiel which to me is a wooden version of xylophone. Not I admit the kind of instrument to get the heart pounding or inspire the latest Bob Dylan to surface, but class A of Meadow park infant’s school was never going to be that anyway.
The girls seemed to be given all the favourable instruments and it seemed already that a life of possible percussion lay ahead of me. In fact I can remember it annoying me that flocks of girls skipped around the class with recorders seemingly already mastered. Were they born that way? The best I could do was to produce a high pitched shriek that killed songbirds from a distance. This was actually in my favour as I found out the recorder was really only meant for girls or future gay men.
The accident that got me barred from further glockenspiel activities was I still feel to this day an injustice, I had been told to leave it alone but inspiration is hard to hold back in a five year old boy and I had watched in envy as a huddle of girls played simple little tunes like they were born to it. That was right up to the point when another lad pushed the instrument over and everyone ran away. I seized my chance and reinstated it to its rightful place and began to play or at least thump it when the door opened and in came the teacher who had previously told me to keep away from the ruddy thing. It was at that point that the glockenspiel chose to fall apart, obviously hideously wounded from its fall and in some way weakened further from my over enthusiastic playing. I can see how this looked but was terribly unfair.
I was made to stand outside and informed that my final humiliation would be to be demoted to what was deemed to be the second lowest of all instruments the cymbal in the up and coming school musical event.
Rehearsals turned out to be another bad day in my music career. To cut a long story short I was sat behind the boy who pushed the glockenspiel over and he had become my arch enemy number one. He was at the bottom of the pecking order in holding the only musical instrument that ranked below the cymbal, the triangle.
I don’t know what came over me but I chose my one and only opportunity to shine by clashing the cymbals together at the right moment but on his head. He was apparently quite deaf for a few days which I think was a serious advantage in that orchestra.
My punishment was to be demoted to the triangle but without the little wand to hit it with.
Later my challenges with the violin and guitar will be revealed

Andy Beveridge

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