The most wonderful surprise arrived on my doorstep last week and I just can't keep my hands off it.

My husband, in a fit of extravagance, has bought me a piano.

He kept hinting he was getting me something special for my birthday but the tradition in our relationship is to give each other very practical presents.

Exciting past gifts from him to me include a pepper mill and a garlic crusher. Given that it was my 40th, I thought this year he would blow a few hundred on a dishwasher and save us several hours at the sink every week.

When a van arrived and two men trundled out a delightful Thirties piano, I couldn't take my rubber gloves off fast enough.

"You mad, crazy husband," I said flinging myself at the ivories for a quick arpeggio.

"Do you like it?" he asked. But I was far too busy trying to remember the chords to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata to answer him.

I had piano lessons from the age of 11 to 17 and, for a while, I thought I might become another Kate Bush. I made up a few dreadful melodies to which I wrote some embarrassing lyrics.

The only trouble was that I couldn't sing and I couldn't perform. If anyone asked me to give them a tune, my fingers did their own thing and refused to follow the sheet music.

People thought I was doing a rather bad impersonation of Les Dawson. The only compliment I ever received was: "I think I can tell what it is."

However, if I should try to play anything when people were cooking in the kitchen or dusting upstairs, my hands flew over the keys just like Liberace's. It was quite frustrating.

By my late teens, my parents realised that I was never going to be the concert pianist they had once hoped. And I had discovered boys, which was a far more absorbing interest.

So, for several years, I never touched a piano. In fact, most of my friends were completely unaware that I had this skill (I would hesitate to call it a talent). Occasionally I had a tinkle at Christmas on the clanking upright my parents still have but not enough to regain the confidence I had once had, nor to extend my fairly limited repertoire.

It wasn't until last year, when we moved to a bigger house, that both myself and my husband said how much we would like a piano in our living room. He never learned, although he can pick out a tune. But we did think it would be nice if ever our children should want to play and I was keen to discover if I could get beyond the first page of the popular classic, Fr Elise.

Anyway, now that we have one, I have been amazed to find that several of my friends are fellow pianists and are extremely envious of my present. In fact, they've all been round to show me how far they got with Fr Elise.

We all agree that it's only now we're appreciating the hours we were forced to spend practising scales and stumbling through obscure minuets when we were children. There is a moral in there somewhere.

Of course, I may never get over my performance nerves and it's unlikely I will ever play my own compositions in public. But many, particularly those who sat through some of my early recitals, will say that is a blessing.