The Frumplingtons

Last week we bought a xylophone. Nothing too elaborate: just fifteen wooden bars and a couple of dinky round-headed mallets.

Tonight, however, we found that the humble xylophone can be the ideal instrument for nervous headbangers; people like me, who like to play along to their favourite heavy metal choons, but who don’t want to bug the neighbours too much.

We switched the radio on for our regular dose of Planet Rock earlier tonight. Iron Maiden’s Aces High was one of the first tracks we heard. Needless to say, I needed no prompting: up came the xylophone from the floor, where it had been hiding for a day or two amid a welter of gardening calatogs [sic] and three-inch nail parings.

(Altogether: Ugh!)

No sooner was the xylophone on the coffee table than I was playing accompaniment to Maiden, keeping up with the rhythm, the riffs and the solos, no problem.

I’ve always said it but no-one ever used to listen: I have hidden talents.

It must be said though, that rock ‘n’ roll xylophone not only sounds good, it feels good to play, too. Much better than playing air xylophone, that’s for sure. If we’d had the technical capability to put tonight’s little xylophone jam session on that Yoochoob site, you’d have marvelled at all the facial expressions and grimaces I was doing, just as good as any of those rock guitarists ever did.

And I even managed a quick impression of the Quo: feet wide apart, knees bent, xylophone mallets pounding a steady, hypnotic beat. Had to be mighty careful not to pull any of me Status Quo muscles when I stood up again though. (Ouch!)

You haven’t heard the last of this either. Just wait till I ‘go electric’. I know it won’t be easy: those wooden bars don’t conduct the voltage very easily. But I’m sure Shana and I can rig something up between us.

[Note to self: must edit previous sentence in morning as might be taken wrong way by smut seekers.]