|Didgeridoos are heavy and come without safety instructions.|
I have always wanted to play an instrument. As a small child I toyed with the Recorder, the Kazoo, triangle and the trombone. But I was never satisfied. No amount of hooting, tinkling or sliding was enough.
Then, as a small adult, I discovered the didgeridoo: a hollow wooden branch into which you vibrate your lips. The result is either a deep, pleasing drone or an ugly sound like and elephant farting.
Over some months I have learned how to drone. I can also buzz, zing, vocalise and produce a sound not unlike a drowning elephant seal.
However, I have not yet achieved the Holey Grail of didge playing, circular breathing (that reader is for another post). But I have tried. In doing so I have learned an important lesson: didgeridoos are dangerous. They are big, heavy and come completely without safety instructions.
Hardly surprising then, that mine has injured me twice. Once, after a particularly long and satisfying blow, I propped mine in a corner only to have it slide down the wall and crush my little toe. I was about to fly out to appear in criminal trials in outback Australia so was a little annoyed. But I persevered, limped into court and got away with it (I'm at an age when limping into court is acceptable, if not compulsory).
Determined not to let the stick injure me in that way again, it promptly found another way. Or should I say I found another way: this time tripping over it after another long and satisfying blow, a blow of such sublime quality I celebrated it with a few beers and a wine or two. The result was a sizable chunk of bark off the old shin bone.
Still, I do like my didge. One day I hope it will like me back.