|
|
| |
|
|
| |
This is where you stick random tidbits of information about yourself.
Age 23, living in sin in Twickenham with Cheesy
Likes
Movies
Books
Writing
Theatre
Hugs
Kittens
Chess
Scrabble (mostly beating Cheesy's butt)
Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Dislikes
Vegetables
Arguments
Cleaning
Trashy TV
Pretensions
Public Transport
Pets
Rabbits-Bambi, Fern, Sooty, Pippa-all deceased
Dog-Sammy-deceased :(
Fish-CatFlap-recently (and finally!) deceased
Cat-Tiggy-still scratching
|
|
|
|
Technically Rachel
|
|
| |
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
I am normally of the opinion that inanimate objects do not the happy person make. Sure - things are nice, and pretty and exciting, but true happiness cannot be derived from a TV, or a computer or a particularly nice blender (you know who you are). However, there is one object that has proved to be an exception (and no, this isn't where this post gets pervy - sorry, Nick).
You see, when I was about 12/13 years old, I joined the school choir - this was a social thing, rather than a talent thing (can you see the exciting social whirl that was high school for me?). In fact, mostly, when it comes to singing, I pretty much suck. Babol will vouch for that even today. There came a time in our school choir days where the music teacher decided rejection would be good for some of us, and auditioned for a certain 'gig' (I'm at a loss for a better word). I was rejected while my core group of friends (okay, make that friend) made it. Cue much silent weeping and feelings of rejection and inadequacy at home. Momo, being a doting and lovely Momo, immediately sorted out singing lessons with my sister's old singing teacher (Fat Ass kicks even fatter ass when it comes to singing, but unfortunately suffers from stage fright - supreme shamo). So, of I went to singing lessons.
I was never a musical child. I struggled through guitar and recorder lessons in primary school, and though I still have a guitar I cannot play it with any real musical justification. So, there was only so far my lessons could take me. To give my teacher credit, for a good number of years I sang beautifully in tune. My singing voice was hardly impressive, but it was at least listenable to. I even had a solo in a musical (no, NONE of you are permitted to see the tape).
The point? When I got to my singing ceiling, my teacher was frank that I couldn't go any further. But she had a suggestion. Would I like to try learn the piano? Such an instrument would keep me with good tune. A little late, I thought, to start learning an instrument like that, but what the heck.
And I took to it. It was like the piano was always meant for me. Sped through Grades 1-3 in just over a year. Was soon playing like I'd been learning since I was 7 or something. I hit a learning peak from GCSEs to A Levels, mainly out of a desire to continue enjoying myself (you get to a certain stage with teachers, and it becomes more of a chore than a pleasure. I stopped lessons and taught myself new pieces. Although I kept up with some classics, my favourites were the piano music of Ben Folds Five (and yes, Tori Amos). I had my piano through University, where it was also introduced to piano lovers Tall Boy, Yappa Dog and Mishka. Twas always out of tune, but lurverly.
Then I moved to London. And into flats. Flats with certainly no room for a piano. Spent 2 years selfishly pleading with parentals not to sell beloved piano, and so far it still sits at home (why wouldn't someone want a piano in their house?). But pointedly, it wasn't with me.
Nearly three years without a piano. When I went home at Xmas I sat at my old piano in near tears at my crappy inability to even do scales sufficiently, yet alone be able to play Evaporated by Ben Folds.
Something had to be done. I got pass the snobbery I have about digital pianos, and realised they were the only way forward. They nearly almost sound like a real piano, and the keys have enough pressure to keep the feel. So, I started getting into looking for one to rent. This lead to serious depression, as most were at least £40 a month, and any that were less either had no insurance, or were (to be frank) shit.
Then on offchance, last Sunday morning I checked Loot. Digital piano. £350. This may sound like a lot, but digital pianos are worth around £1000. And this is the equivalent of 8 months rent, for something I'd be likely to rent over a year and probably never quite own. And it was in Hounslow (which by the by, is right near where I live). I went over there, saw it, and bought it right there. Cause it's beautiful. I drove home with it precariously packed into my car with the biggest grin I've had since I got my My Little Pony Dance Bonnet when I was 6. The afternoon was spent with me bouncing off the walls waiting for Babol to come home and help me take it from the car.
It's perfect, and lovely and though it isn't my old piano, it is certainly the next best thing. I have keys beneath my fingers again, and we have a lot of catching up to do. My music books are finally getting the dust off.
Perhaps some would argue that a musical instrument isn't an inanimate object. I can't say. In the end, it's plastic and wires. But it feels like a friend (yes, I was a lonely child), and maybe that's a musical psychosis, or just comfort from something inanimate. Either way, I like it.
And I've noticed I've used loads of brackets today (what's that about?)
9:51 am
|
|
| |
|
|
|
