My Grandad was the best drummer who ever lived, despite only having biscuit tins for a drum kit and two rolling pins for sticks. Although he had a poor sense of timing and rhythm, he compensated with a heavy handed playing style and practised enthusiastically for 18 hours a day. My Nan didn't appreciate his skills, however, and after 50 years of pounding, she stabbed him in the throat in 1985.