When my neighbour rang to say her friend was selling a piano, my mind filled with images of Laurel and Hardy - of the comic duo bumbling their way up a long flight of steps, piano in tow.

In true Stan and Olly fashion, things didn't go smoothly as they delivered the piano to its new owner. I can picture the two of them, starting out enthusiastically, but fast becoming way out of their depth, as they tried to manoeuvre the heavy instrument.

The clattering, banging, tantrums and tears make up one the most famous scenes in their many hilarious films.

"So, do you want a piano?" my friend repeated. As it happened, my eldest daughter had just begun learning, and, as she pointed out, all her friends had one.

I must stress that this is not the reason we decided to buy it. I say a firm "No" to about 75 per cent of requests that come my way, particularly when it relates to something that "everyone else in my class has got".

You name it, I've said no to it - iPods, mobile phones, Playstation I, II, III, IV (or whatever they go up to). But the piano was different. For a start, we knew it had been well cared for, we like the previous owners, and - because they wanted it to go to a good home, they sold it to us at a bargain price.

Once the decision to buy it had been made, the next question was how to move it. Laurel and Hardy images came thick and fast. A couple of people suggested asking my next-door neighbour, who owns a trailer. But the vehicle sits high off the ground and I couldn't see how, without bodybuilders and a fork lift truck, we could get it on. It was suggested that we push it along the pavement. Somehow, I couldn't see it. For a start, the pavements around us aren't that smooth and the piano weighs a ton. On the plus side, passers-by would assume we were doing some sort of charity piano push, and chuck money at us (which I could always do with, but I'd rather not wreck the piano in the process).

There was only one thing for it - removal men. Three of them arrived, none of them big and burly. As they heaved the piano on to a trolley, I winced in anticipation of it thudding down on someone's foot.

They somehow - without so much as one note sounding - managed to get the piano onto a lift at the back of their van, and, with a few well-practised twists and turns, into our house. We've barely got room for a kid's xylophone but by shoving the dining table up against the wall we've managed to squeeze it in.

It just goes to show, it is possible to move a piano without a hitch.