At the age of ten or eleven I discovered Jazz, and drums become my raison d'etre.

At first I would emulate brush specialist Chico Hamilton of the Gerry Mulligan Quartet. I didn't have any drums but swishing my homemade copper wire brushes over the daily newspaper, placed atop the French polished sideboard in my parent's home, was pretty realistic. "Don't let your dad see you doing that!"

Dad was a Master Cabinet Maker; he'd made that piece of furniture with his bare hands. (I still have the sideboard.)

Sometimes in front of our Bush radiogram, I would accompany the Benny Goodman Orchestra and Gene Krupa on a Cadbury's Roses tin with the lid slightly askew - this produced a nice rattling snare effect. Very "Hound Dog" Or, for that funky piccolo rim-shot crack: an Oxo tin was ideal.

They didn't last long though, with the aid of a pair of Nelson Grammar School paint brush handles, borrowed from the art department, I gave them what for.

I won't bore you by describing my "cymbals" and the other percussive contraptions, but to set the scene: My Grandad, Alf Precious, was a plumber and lived next door...