For my birthday in 2011 I was gifted a very cute, baby pink ukulele and for over 12 months it sat looking very pretty on my book shelf tormenting me.... because although I'm absolutely passionate about music, I'm thoroughly inept when it comes to playing an instrument.
I just can't get my head around how music works, it's a complex maze of rhythm and melody, layers of carefully structured sound who's theory sends my head into a whirl almost as easily as listening to it makes my body want to.
Pretty in pink and unblinking, my uke stared me down. It's Mahalo brand cheap and cheerful and it's jangly strings silent and neglected.
And then something happened. My lovely man bought himself a saxophone and threw himself into it with gusto... I mean, he even grew a mustache to match, we're talking dedication here!
4 months later and he's busting out bebop jazz solos like there's no tomorrow.
I'm not entirely sure this is a good thing, but it's certainly made our house a more musical (and louder) place to be and changed something in me.
I had a very quiet Christmas time, burnt out by a hectic November and December I jut sat on my couch and lounged in the heat. I ate, I drank, I watched lots of movies and took a 2 week sabbatical from my crazily busy life. In short, I recuperated from 2012.
One very special but indistinct languid summers day, in the post-xmas haze I picked up my Ukulele. And I played until my fingers were sore, I learnt simple chords and how to strum, I learnt that playing chords on the uke demands no reading of music, I learnt it's hard to sing along but I'm damned if that's gonna stop me.
Our house rang with badly played beginners ukulele tunes, my fingers got tough, and my rhythm less clunky, and now it almost sounds like music, and I'm proud. Proud as baby-pink punch.
How can you fail to be happy with music as cheerful as this?!