Ian McMillan: I can’t sing, but I won’t let that put me off

So, to fill my pockets before my last-minute shopping, I’ve decided to indulge in a bit of busking. I can’t sing and I haven’t got any musical instruments, but I won’t let that put me off. Not being able to sing isn’t a problem. Those blokes with shiny suits would tell me that I should see it as an opportunity and to be honest an inability to hold a tune or remember any words never bothered that bloke who used to busk in Barnsley with a wheezing squeezebox and a voice like a pub sign squeaking in a breeze.

His cap always seemed full of coppers. And the odd euro and a washer or two, but there are certain parts of Yorkshire where the washer is currency. Not having an instrument shouldn’t put me off either, because I reckon I could be a one man Body Orchestra; in fact I’m going to nip out this afternoon and have a placard made: Mac’s Body Band.

That’ll make ’em stop and pay. I’ll have to get a bigger cap for all the takings! For a start, I can whistle. I can do tunes. I can do common or garden birds (although to be honest most of them sound like the blackbird or the top note of that bloke’s aforementioned accordion). I can whistle in and out as well, so the tune never ends. As well as what you might call lip-whistling, I can do teeth-whistling, the kind that older people with ill-fitting home-altered dentures do accidentally. I can do that thing they call hand-rasping in polite circles, and hand-trumping in not-so-polite circles. I’ve been able to do it for years and it’s an ability you’re born with, I reckon; you’ve either got it or you’ve not. You clench your hands together and force air out from between your fingers by moving the hands in a pumping motion. I’ve tried to pass on the skill of the hand-rasp to eager acolytes over the years but I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s unteachable; as I’m playing the opening of Mozart’s 40th in a syncopated rhythm all they can manage is a small pffff like a balloon going down. I can play anything you like – from Fly Me to the Moon to O Come All Ye Faithful. Ker-ching! I can hambone, which is the act of slapping your thighs or your chest in a rhythmic manner, and I can snap my fingers and do that more difficult variation of snapping favoured in hip-hop circles where you strike your pointing finger against your middle finger in a staccato click.

I can get a tune out of my cheeks by getting lots of air inside my mouth and then flicking them with my fingers; that’s a good one for the William Tell Overture, and I can play my head by rapping the top of my skull with my knuckles and opening and closing my mouth. That hurts. My plan is to begin with the whistling, go through my entire body repertoire and finish with a flourish on the hand-rasps. Watch for me in a town near you. And get your coins ready to drop in my cap .…