Ouch! When I was learning I was banished to the garage at the bottom of the garden, which had a deep, concrete-lined inspection pit, roofed over with old railway sleepers.
I'd have to clamber down into the pit, squat among the demijohns of fermenting beer, and practice away secure in the knwledge that I was muffled enogh not to get bollocked by anyone - bar the odd passing cat.
Thus the Dorset 4HR always makes me feel like an alcoholic troglodyte