Happy Chris-Mosh!

Confession: No Thank You For The Music

Hello Simon and Brethren,

I am writing this confession during one of those brief moments of privacy that occurs in the lives of parents the world over. My daughters are at Brownies and it is my wife's turn to collect them. They will, however, it being Wednesday and their being avid confession fans, be eating their tea sitting opposite me (looking shifty) at the dinner table. Please say hello to Emily aged 10 and Lydia aged 9 and tell them Dad loves them very much, very very much.

I am a repeat offender Simon, my two crimes almost 30 years apart. Whilst I fear my crimes will compel revulsion among many and that I may be shunned by all decent society forever more, I also believe others albeit silently and secretly will understand.

Many years ago as a small boy, some no doubt well-meaning teacher, shall we call him Mr Nohope, sought to teach me amongst many others to play the recorder. I have not a musical bone in my body, I couldn't play the recorder no matter how hard I tried and I did try, at least at first, but with the passing of time my effort waned and I came to despise the very sound, the screeching, grating, nerve shredding sound of the recorder. I am sure that sound effected my nerves so badly as to rob me of any chance of my dream to become a professional footballer. But I digress...

Imagine my delight when my younger sister, I shall call her Perfect Peter, as I am surely Horrid Henry, discovered she could play the recorder, by ear no less. Hour after hour, day after interminable day. From time to time I would snap, steal the recorder and run away. This became harder with the passage of time, as she became unfeasibly strong and would hit me with it. Then one day I was struck by the lightning bolt that would prove to be my eternal shame. Recorders at that time were made in 3 pieces. I awaited my chance and when the opportunity presented itself, I dismantled the 3 pieces and hid them separately about the house. Tossed to the four winds. I rode the storm that followed, and claimed to be entirely innocent. In time, I forgot where I had hidden the 3 pieces. I think my parents may have been secretly pleased as the recorder was never replaced. My sister went on to play many varied instruments and seemed no the worse for the experience. Do I seek her forgiveness? No. I am unrepentant, I hated that recorder and the noise would have driven me insane.


Fast forward 30 years. I am now the father to two delightful girls. Imagine then my horror when recorders appear in the house, courtesy of my own mother forcing me to disown her completely. However, I was older, more mature I told myself, how bad could it get.

30 years has a way of making one forget. Oh the horror. That sound, as bad as ever, and now in stereo. Frere Jacques, Sur lenPont D'Avignon, and a selection of current hits. Coldplay, Robbie Williams and I think Who Let The Dogs Out, but frankly it’s impossible to tell for certain. But look at their happy, concentrating faces as they make their howling, screeching racket. They look to me, I nod encouragingly but inside I am dying because I know what I have to do. Yes, 30 years on and I duplicated the crime of my childhood, I hid both recorders whole, as those cunning makers of musical malice had progressed to making them one piece. "I've lost my recorder!" cries one, "me too! " calls the other and off we go around the house on a pointless 'hunt the recorder' session. Everyone gets more irate as they fail to appear. "You’ll have to go to school without them" says I. "But we'll get into trouble!" they say. I look compassionate and write a note. "They'll turn up!" I say cheerily.

But they didn't. Not then, not ever.

I hid them so well that when we moved house nearly 3 years ago, I once again had forgotten where I had hidden them.

I still hate the recorder and should they dare to ever replace them I will chop them into firewood. I suspect however this situation will never arise as they are now learning to play a keyboard and so help me they turn it up to 11. However, there is little or nothing I can do about this as I dare not face the wrath of my wife (Hi Kym, have I told you lately how much I love you?)

Brethren, I seek you forgiveness, for at some point in time, if it has not already happened, some unfortunate soul will be faced with the child who discovers the missing recorders and proceeds to do what all children do with a recorder. I was stupid and selfish, I am ashamed, I deserve to live under a rock - I should have disposed of the recorders properly, permanently. Now another untroubled soul must suffer the same shrill fate.

Please forgive me.

James from Mid-Wales