revenge

We are, it seems, becoming a musical family. Father playing the bass guitar, son on electric guitar and me on an electronic keyboard recently purchased at an auction for £10.





My partner and I have a musical past. His was as a roady and sound technician for 80's rock bands. Mine was less exciting: piano lessons and for a short time, organ lessons. On a Friday evening we now have a gig - advanced purchase ticket holders only - in our sitting room. Partner plucking away on the bass, me crunching chords on the keyboard and son strumming along. Fortunately our neighbours, to date, have been tolerant. The electronic keyboard was a bargain and the samba beat encourages me to strive for new heights of musical creativity. I think the next thing on the list is an electronic drum kit, the more traditional version most unsuitable for people living in flats.



We're not at the stage of playing in public (huge sighs of relief all round) but we have a rather wicked idea. This week we received a most formal invitation to a birthday party in June. The formality wouldn't normally register, but this particular acquaintance and her partner give a new intensity to the word 'unconventional'. Over the years it's seemed to me that they have worked hard at behaving differently to other people, choosing to ignore standard social niceties, so the arrival in the post caused a stir.

I actually owe this person something, for it was through her that I met my partner. The occasion was a party at her flat, an evening after my brother, sister and I invited some of my parents' friends for lunch and a short ceremony to bury my mother's ashes. It was a time of mixed emotions, sadness but some comfort derived from those around me. I'd shed a few tears, and as a result appeared at the party, mellow and relaxed, clad in a weird set of clothes I'd bought in Thailand. And there he was. I noticed him because there were only about eight people at the get together, and he was the only one not playing a bassoon or other such instrument when the music started. The music was grim, but we got talking. And he was keen to help me move flat a week later, keener still to write to me, wonderful letters, and here we are eighteen years later, happily -most of the time -cohabiting.


Anyway, as they say, revenge is a dish best served cold - in this case, frozen - and so it's occurred to us that we might turn up at this party with our homespun band and see what happens. Hey ho.



Daringly yours


Jane