Life My fingers hurt. I've just got back from the Africa Oye Festival where I sat in on a bongo-drum lesson. I've always thought I had good timing, but I also have a terrible memory, which is why I'll never be a dancer obviously, so much of the time I resorted to random banging which sometimes fell into sync with the other children. At the close as I wondered if the circulation would ever return to the tips of my fingers, I asked the instructor/hippy what he did with them afterwards. Not much apparently -- he showed me his hands and the pads were covered in calluses, with odd bits of tape here and there keeping his skin stuck on.