Nostalgia

Nostalgia is a dangerous word to smack about at the best of times, but especially when you’ve only occupied your small space on the earth for less than, say, 35 years as I have. Nostalgia is more a pastime indulged by those with more authority, more experience at being alive, fatter bellies and a longer history of bad haircuts. Perhaps there should be a law: only the over 50s can use sentences such as “Whatever happened to..” or “Back in my day they made them 10 times stronger and 4 times longer” etc. I simply don’t have the ammunition to fire out those sort of wisdom pellets. “I remember when a Busted single took 6 hours to download” just doesn’t hold the same weight does it? I am, however, looking forward to my infirmity when I can use the phrase, “Well it was back in ought 5, when twenty pounds would you get ya a trip to the moving pictures and two cheap women to watch them with.”

I digress. Nostalgia is on my mind because I wanted to share a little story about a Spanish composer, nine tuba players, a lake and a poor sense of balance. It was the summer of ought 6, when the skirts were high and the prices were low. There was a war on, but we made the best of it and kept our British stiff upper thighs. The tuba department of the Royal Northern College of Music was asked to perform a new piece of music by a composer whose name seemed to be “3″. We were cautious at first, not wanting to sully our fine reputation as sophisticated tuba players, but then we found out there was £50 in it and as many pork pies as you can fit in your hat, so we agreed. The day of the performance came and we were summoned to a park in the middle of the Mancunian “safe zone” (needing only our stab vest and a few simple smoke grenades just in case). Not wanting to blind you with science, I’ll skip the intricacies of the composer’s instructions and will lay them out very simply.

“I would like you to play random notes every few seconds for about 30 minutes”
“Oh and you’ll be in rowing boats”
“Wearing capes”
“And masks”
“With a lantern”
“Bobbing up and down”
“Looking like a twat”
Well the cheques had been written and I was already wearing a cape and mask purely by coincidence (as was the fashion of the time) so off we went and in we got.
You get to do a lot of thinking when you’re at one with nature; the water of the lake lapping against the smooth wood of the boats; the gentle creaking of the oars; the haunting parp of the occasional tuba echoing on into the midnight air. I thought a lot that evening, as I adjusted my mask and stared at the young woman who was rowing me round a lake as I played random notes into her face. I remember thinking: “This, my friend, is why nobody wants to sleep with you.”
And in many ways I was right. And in case you think I’m lying:

~ by smamms on June 8, 2008.