Lock up your auteurs

I recently stumbled over an email from a mate of mine. It’s out of the ark but I think it might make you smile. It certainly made me grin reading it again after 6 years.

I don’t want to go into too much detail because it will spoil it but to whet your appetite I’m willing to say it’s concerns an elderly Jazz muscian telling a heartwarming story at a local music recital about a by-gone age of inncocence and clean living.

Trust me it’s better than it sounds and a true travesty!

From: Dave
Subject: A Saturday night to remember
Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 16:01:57 +0000

Happy Monday my Mauve Mo Fo’s,

The reason that I was unable to do anything earlier on Saturday night was the fact that I had my band camp Christmas concert.  An entire Saturday afternoon wasted rehearsing with a bunch of musical toss heads that I would generally go out of my way to avoid in normal circumstances.  Karen [His girlfriend] insisted on coming, as did my parents.  

My primary school nativity plays demonstrated more professional zeal and thespian merit.  An evening that would have been better spent either sitting in a sparsely decorated room staring at the wall or taking a rusty bread knife to my scrotum.  Or so I thought.  But, with the actions of just one man, it became one of the best concerts that I have ever done.

Every time this orchestra does a concert they get members of the band to perform little jazz things in between the main pieces.  As bad as this sounds, it’s usually quite good, as there are a few old boys in the band that have had fairly colourful pasts.  There are a couple of old chaps in particular who have played the trumpet and the clarinet respectively with the likes of Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Glen Miller, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin – quite cool.  

Not that I ever have, but if you were to get them started I’m sure they could tell you some pretty cool stories.  So you can imagine that, even though they’re both about 80, they’re well, well good.

This time was no exception.  This old chap steps up and, in true jazz style, proceeds to tell a little story before his first tune… Along the lines of, ‘I first played this tune when I was touring with the Rat Pack in Vegas…’  You get the idea.  I, along with the rest of the band, was sitting behind him.  This concert was in a church on Oakleigh Road and the audience consisted mainly of family member, loved ones and old people.  Fairly conservative.  

I was satwith my head in my hands chilling to the bone, thankful that I could sit doing nothing for a while. This old trumpet dude embarked on a shit anecdotal story, something about touring Ireland with his band just after the war. To be honest I really wasn’t listening.  But as it became more and more clear that the story was SO bad that it wasn’t even appealing to this audience of people that had nothing better to do than sit in a church listening to a bad orchestra of a Saturday night, I began to take notice, because it was literally SO crash and burn.  

He kept pausing for comic effect, but you could literally hear a pin drop.  There began to be a few sniggers and knowing looks from the members of the band that don’t use hearing aids.  As I began to listen more attentively I realised that he was going on about some gig that he was doing in a ball room in Belfast.  Then he said that he saw anabsolute ‘honey’ in the crowd that came over to him between tunes and paid him some twee compliment.  At this point I was expecting this story to go something along the lines of ‘Well, we got married a couple of years later and I never looked back…’  You know the sort of thing – that might raise a loose ‘Aw’ from the audience.  

But no.  Oh no no no.

He went on to describe in intimate detail the shape of her body that was lightly wrapped in a figure hugging dress.  It transpired thathe got talking to her after his set and she eventually invited him to the beach…  ‘Well’ he went on ‘I thought I may as well, so we went down to the beach and she ran into the water.  I was tired after my performance so I chose to recline on the sand..’  Still the possibility of this drivel ending in marriage and eternal happiness I thought, but it was starting to be obvious that he’d been talking for about ten minutes by this point.  I still wasn’t taking a great deal of notice, but was becoming more and more amused at how badly this rambling nonsense was going down.  Not exactly a snappy cliché before a tip top jazz performance…

‘As I watched her come out of the water, completely naked, I couldn’t help but muse at how perfectly snappy her little body was…’ I raised my head from my hands.

‘Then she sat on my face’.  BOLT UPRIGHT.  Turmoil.  Gasps from the audience, hysterical laughter comparable to when that sad twat does that horrifically cringe worthy best man’s speech about all the husbands ex-girlfriends in Four Weddings and a Funeral.

‘The dirty bitch, I thought, but got stuck in anyway…’  Fist in mouth, tears beginning to form.  Shock turning to some people beating church pughs with their fists, others donning their coats to leave, the air was rife with uncontrollable hysterics, weeping and shrieks of appalled mortification.

Suddenly this concert had turned into one of the best, most noteworthy impromptu shows I’d ever seen.  True comedy gold.

But there was more.  So much more…

‘The following day I agreed to go to her house in the afternoon.  I arrived and she grabbed hold of me and started rubbing herself all over me whispering how much she wanted me and telling me she loved me – great!…’  Can this be happening??  Am I dreaming?  This sort of thing happens in top end films of comedy genius, not All Saints Church in North Finchley!!

‘As I was handed a cup of tea, her mother asked if she could have a word.  “Do you realise my daughter’s only 15??” she enquired’  

Pandemonium.  People leaving, others literally rolling in the aisles.  I was nearly at the point of vomiting.  Karen was sitting between my parents – my father was crying with laughter and my mother was clearly amused but had her face in her hands…  

Now it began to get seriously cringe worthy, since he was still applying pauses to the speech for comic effect.  Please, please stop.

‘Well that was the end of that!  I could almost see the prison bars looming.. I downed my tea and legged it…’  ANOTHER COMEDY PAUSE.  

‘My drummer had her sister though…  She was 14…’  

At which point a member of the band literally let out a high pitched squeal to add to the lunacy that had, by this point enveloped the whole church. This was followed by quite an impressive jazz piece. When this had finished, and everyone had had five minutes to calm down and breathe easy, he again picked up the microphone and proceeded to introduce his next piece:

‘This next tune’s called “Dancing Cheek to Cheek”.  Now this brings back a few memories as well…’

At this point the conductor dived across the stage in Matrix bullet time shouting ‘Noooo!’ and turned the microphone off.

Carnage.  Utter, unadulterated carnage.  Fucking superb!

I bid you adieu…


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