MUSIC has never been a strong point in our house. I didn't get further than The Grand Old Duke of York on the recorder, and my wife gave up learning the piano after killing Onward Christian Soldiers in school assembly, so there was never much hope for the children.

Up to now they've come home from school with a cello which took up its own seat in the car and attracted the neighbourhood cats to the garden wall whenever it was scraped with a bow; a baritone which sounded like it was suffering from chronic indigestion; and a trombone which only ever emits one note and continues to make me think a ship's coming in.

But I'd rather have the scratchy cello, the belching baritone and the foghorn trombone any day than the latest noise pollutant to find its way into our house - the winophone.

Our eldest's class had been challenged to make a musical instrument, which is why I came home from work to discover that six wine glasses had been mysteriously stuck to an old drawing board with electrician's tape.

"It's my musical instrument - good isn't it?" explained the boy, who proceeded to give one of the most bizarre demonstrations imaginable.

Each glass was filled with increasing levels of water, he dipped his finger into the first one and started running it round the rim until it made that horrible, high-pitched whining noise. Then he moved onto the next one, then the next and the next, going further and further up the scale until he finished by using a straw to suck water in and out of the last glass to make the tone go higher and lower.

It was the last straw - I had to ask him to stop on the grounds that it was putting my teeth on edge, giving me a splitting headache, and generally making me feel that I was living in a parallel universe inhabited by a school of whales.

"What d'ya think, Dad?" he asked.

"Fantastic," I lied.

"Wanna hear some more?"

"Not just now thanks."

"Will you help me get it to school tomorrow?"

"OK."

We normally walk to school but I kept imagining people asking themselves the same question: "Why is that man walking to school, carrying a large piece of wood with a row of wine glasses stuck on top, and a box of straws under his arm?"

I couldn't face the embarrassment so we went in the car. The winophone took up just as much room as the cello and the potential for damage was far greater.

With icy conditions underfoot, I should really have accompanied the boy until he and his instrument of torture were safely in the classroom, but I couldn't face the stares so he walked across the car park on his own.

"Guess what, Dad?" he said later. "I got ten out of ten for my musical instrument."

Not surprisingly, no one else went for wine glasses stuck to a board. Most of them opted for makeshift maracas using rice or hard beans in jars - much easier to carry.

This week's homework challenge is to compose a piece of music for a classroom performance by the home-made ensemble.

When I fell asleep in front of the fire at the weekend, I woke up in a cold sweat after dreaming that the rehearsals were held in our house. It was a whining, maraca-shaking nightmare with windows shattering, neighbours shouting, and every dog for miles around howling madly.

I needed a drink - but I couldn't find a wine glass.