Nobody told me I couldn't, by Tom Chapple

I was eleven years old and desperately keen to learn classical guitar. There were no school tuition places available, so my class teacher suggested I should “try playing the trumpet – you might like it”. I did try it, and I absolutely loved it! I practiced until my lips became bruised and my front teeth loosened, joining every band and orchestra I could find.

After about a year or so, I pitched up to one of my weekly lessons and boldly asked my tutor (Willie McMullan) if I could play a piece I'd worked on during the week. He asked which one, and I replied “the Carnival of Venice, from the Arban book”. He raised an incredulous eyebrow, smiled a sceptical smile, sat back and folded his arms.

I played for the next few minutes: the introduction, the theme and the first three variations, during which time he had unfolded his arms, sat forward, smiled an appreciative smile and raised the other incredulous eyebrow. (As an aside, Willie’s eyebrows were famous, partly because he had three - a bushy one over each eye, and another, even more bushy, on his top lip.) He stopped me and said “do it again” and turned to the piano.

This time, with Willie’s patented ‘oompah-pah’ vamped accompaniment, I played even better. We stopped after the second variation and he said “ok, that was a really good effort. Usually, you know, this piece is for people who’ve been playing a long while, years in fact – what made you think you could play a piece like this?”. My answer was “well, you never told me I couldn’t”. I had found it in my book, liked the sound of it, and learned it.

I was just an ordinary, spotty, geeky twelve-year-old, neither musically gifted nor (I thought at least) particularly precocious. This was simply the result of ambition, eagerness to shine, innocence, curiosity and naivety all liberated because no-one limited my aspirations by saying it was ‘beyond me’ or ‘too advanced’. I went on to sit my ABRSM Grade 5 when I was fourteen and my Grade 8 at fifteen. I still play to this day, but only as a hobby.

I turned my back on going to music college (or indeed any tertiary education) yearning instead to ‘have a job where I needed to wear a suit, carry a briefcase and live in a flat. Nobody told me I couldn't, so I did that too, and by age nineteen I was a supervisor in huge general merchandise warehouse, with a flat (and mortgage), a couple of suits and a brief case. This was the base camp for what was to become my career (not exactly that of Bill Gates or Lord Sugar, but I am content).

I recently recalled the Carnival Of Venice story over dinner with a school friend (and fellow trumpeter) who I had hooked up with again after twenty-seven years. We had been talking about my recent (and some will say audacious) business start-up and it occurred to me that, without realising it, my career was laced with examples of this attitude - often in my own projects and sometimes leading others. Whilst not always as successful as I would prefer, the results have been, on balance, very positive indeed.

Unfortunately, we live in an increasingly competitive and cynical world with plenty of people ready to tell you that “you won’t be able to handle that” or “it’s too difficult for one person” or “you really need more experience” or ”that needs handling by someone more senior than you”. If you hear people say such things, reach for a pinch of salt. And if you find yourself saying such things (self critically or to others), then consider the consequences.

Willie McMullan (with his three eyebrows) had a big impact on the shape of my life, not because of what he said, but because of what he omitted. He never told me I couldn't.