Easter Saturday.  We are in our new car heading for the coast.  We are on the trail of the briefcase left on the train which turns up at the end of the line in Littlehampton.  Despite the weather it’s a chance to take the car for an airing, a 2 hour drive combining motorway and winding A roads.

I’m the passenger, encased in cream leather, soothed by the gentle purr of the engine as we speed long.  Roscoe is oblivious – we could be in Timbuktu –  his eyes are glued to his portable DVD screen, headset on, he is lost in the world of X-men.
Super heroes with no limit to their powers to save the world from the bad guys.

Back in reality, I get to choose the music.  Because we both love to drive we have a rule, whoever is the passenger chooses the tunes.  There has to be some pleasure to sitting passively.  I’m playing one of my sing-a-long playlists, everything from Joni Mitchell, Nick Drake, Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris, Carly Simon, James, Taylor, Fleetwood Mac through to John Legend, Bruno Mars, Phil Phillips, Coldplay and even Johnny Cash singing the Old Rugged Cross – my Nana used to sing this as a soloist in church and I still remember sitting in a hard wooden pew listening to her voice soar while silently ‘sooking’ a polo-mint.  Johnny is good but he’s not a patch on Margaret Godfrey!

As the child of a music teacher who can play any keyboard, I was often pressed into action to fill in time or fill a slot.  So I would duet with the angelic Ailsa at the Christmas eve service in Wick.  Full of inebriated, happy folks piling into the warmth of the kirk as the pubs had closed, we would stand importantly at the front of the pulpit and trill Stille Nacht in two-part harmony.  When I got older, I would earn money by singing in the clubs as Mum played keyboard and sang harmony as together we would croon old favourites like Beautiful dreamer and Show me the way to go home!!  I would never have won the X-factor but I could hold a tune.

However much I love how music and words make me feel, I am now somewhat hampered in joy.  Turns out that our tongue is a key instrument in how we sing. No longer am I the songbird; now I’m the warbler. And without the ability to hold the notes, my ability to let go in the music is diminishing.  It’s fine being the funny guy – Craig and Roscoe roll around laughing as I try to get the tune out- but inside it hurts.

So I am careful with my child who is currently tone-deaf.  He loves to sing but his voice is getting quieter.  He’s gone from loving music at school to attending music class and choir reluctantly.  The school have hired a music teacher still harbouring her own aspirations for West-End stardom and she brooks nothing other than perfection.  So she has told him he’s “no-good” and to stand at the back “singing quietly”.  He tells me he “can’t sing” and I respond that his voice will come when it breaks.  And I have no idea if I can teach him to sing in tune or if I can train my errant tongue to vibrate in a pleasing manner.

But I’m going to try.  Suggestions on how are most welcome!