GLASGOW'S streets are always swinging to the sound of buskers, and the city's passion for music is never more obvious than during the Celtic Connections music festival.

For the past two weeks, more than 1000 musicians from every corner of the world have flocked to Glasgow to play at the festival, which comes to a close this weekend.

And there has been plenty of opportunity for Glasgow music fans to get involved too, with the workshops each Saturday and Sunday of the festival for people to come along and try all manner of instruments, from fiddle to accordion and samba drums to spoons.

LISTEN TO BARRY McDONALD'S REPORT ON THE PUBLIC REACTION TO FIN'S BUSKING

These workshops are incredibly popular and many of them sell out well in advance.

But can you really "learn to play in a day" or pick up the basics after a quick session?

I went along to find out, joining a Saturday morning session and then getting a quick one-to-one tutorial from Lanarkshire Guitar and Mandolin Association's mandolin guru Barbara Steel before taking my new-found talents out on the city's streets to see if I could make it alongside the pan-piping Peruvians to bagpiping young Scots, who bring the busiest street corners - and prime busking spots - to life.

While the musical prowess of these street performers is often as unpredictable as the weather they brave, they are an integral part of the Glasgow shopping experience, the soundtrack of the city centre.

But what exactly does it take to earn a penny or two and entertain the crowds?

I sat enviously looking at my tutor's hands moving skilfully over what looked to me like an odd cross between a banjo and a viola.

This was my one-hour lesson, my sole preparation before being tossed on to the streets of Glasgow, armed only with this egg-shaped, eight-stringed absurdity they call a mandolin.

I'm not someone who is normally particularly generous to buskers.

It's not that I'm a skinflint; if there's quality on show then I'll reach deep into my (normally empty) pockets.

But it's the have-a-go heroes I can't abide, those deluded souls whose self-belief dwarfs their ability as they subject the unsuspecting public to their medley of musical fumblings.

Musical fumbling was order of the day for me however, as I sat admiring my skilful instructor Barbara while nervously swatting at the medieval looking instrument before me.

Being able to play a guitar should in theory have helped me, but the small instrument made my fingers feel like over-sized sausages clumsily slapping against the tiny fretboard.

Gradually though, I improved from horrific to horrendous, and soon my time had come. Mandolin in hand I stepped nervously on to Buchanan Street, suddenly wishing that I'd never even heard of the Evening Times, let alone agreed to busk for it.

I took up my post standing on a bench outside Buchanan Galleries, tossed down my hat (admittedly a somewhat optimistic gesture) and began to play. Standing alone singing and playing in a street is like that horrible nightmare you sometimes get, the one when you find yourself walking down the street naked. Today I had only a mandolin to cover my modesty. And it's a very small instrument.

As Donald Dewar scowled on me, his green colour surely nothing to do with envy, I started into some Beatles classics. Here Comes the Sun was intended to brighten the heavy mood somewhat, magically enticing pennies from pockets into my empty hat.

Sadly, it was more like Here Comes the Stoney Faces, as my huge smile and magnetic (ahem) bench presence failed to garner much support. Even the ridiculous tartan trousers I had pulled on to try and, at least, inspire some sort of reaction, were abjectly ignored.

The next slightly deformed rabbit to emerge from my musical hat was Paulo Nutini's Last Request, a shameful attempt to charm the female teeny-bopper shoppers into parting with their pocket money.

Amazingly however, smiles were beginning to appear, and as I began to hear the chink of coins, I scarily found myself starting to enjoy this misguided exhibitionism.

Buzzing on my new found confidence, I rattled my way through Scottish folk classic Caledonia. I thought that perhaps some of the slightly more vintage street walkers would appreciate this attempt, but it turns out state pensions don't extend as far as to take pity on poor, young buskers.

The elements then began to take their toll, with the chill wind causing my fingers, not particularly nimble at the best of times, to freeze up.

With my small repertoire fast approaching exhaustion, I finished with a rendition of Ain't No Sunshine, originally played by soul legend Bill Withers. However, it was my enthusiasm that was fast withering as the wind picked up, engulfing my warblings.

I stepped off my podium. This show was over. The princely sum for my intrepid half an hour's exertions? £2.61. I suppose that's pretty much minimum wage, but there are far easier ways to earn it.