I have a vivid memory of sitting cross-legged on the floor of my primary school class with the little plastic instrument, running through Three Blind Mice after school, before packing it into a little drawstring bag to take home.

For many people, this is where their relationship with the recorder begins and ends. In the same way that being force-fed Julius Caesar in school can put people off Shakespeare for life, it may be that enforced after-school recorder lessons give people hang-ups about this wonderful instrument.

I suppose that the association with school also means the recorder doesn't benefit from the glamour and rock prestige that one might attach to the electric guitar or the drumkit. Fool On The Hill and Ruby Tuesday aside, are there many recorder solos in the world of popular music?

A visit to the Peterborough branch of the Society of Recorder Players, however, offers a glimpse into just what the instrument can do. Being a guitar player (and only in the loosest possible sense), all things musical are a bit of a mystery to me.

I didn't have a clue, for instance, that there are actually four different kinds of recorder. The treble, or alto recorder, is the kind you probably had in school, and is small, so perfect for tiny hands.

There are also descant, or soprano, recorders, as well as tenor and bass variants, and the blend of sounds that came from the 15-strong group as they played together sounded absolutely wonderful.

I was half-expecting to be having another crack at Three Blind Mice as I arrived, but it was in at the deep end from the off, as I was given a tenor recorder to play.

I've met any number of groups as I've taken part in these How To . . . challenges over the months, but I can confidently say that the recorder players are among the most friendly and helpful people I've met along the way.

Under the initial tutelage of retired music teacher Jan Theedom, and later, an incredibly patient lady called Diane, I was shown how to play G, C, and D before it was straight off into a piece.

The biggest stumbling block was not so much my lack of knowledge of the architecture of the recorder as the fact that I can't read a note of music. Thankfully, Diane was able to overcome my initial baffled looks and soldiered on until I was able to recognise a C in the notation. As the group ran through the piece, I was able to drop in the odd C, with the help of the odd nudge to tell me where to come in. Soon, I was able to play a few Cs before shifting to an A, and my confidence was slowly increasing.

Throwing in another note, however, proved disastrous, and the beautiful sound that cascaded through the air of St Mark's Church Hall was rent asunder by my tuneless parping.