Road Trip

In Which I Had A Sub-Heading But Deleted It By Mistake And Can't For The Life Of Me Remember What It Said.

Sylvia • 18 Apr, 17:47 Might have to go to Lincoln for a car.
Me • 18 Apr, 17:47 oo when?
Sylvia • 18 Apr, 17:47 wednesday?
Me • 18 Apr, 17:48 I’m going to Nottingham on Wednesday. I suppose Lincoln could be on the way...
Sylvia • 18 Apr, 17:48 ah... well it could be. y u go to notts?
Me • 18 Apr, 17:50 for a bassoon
Sylvia • 18 Apr, 17:50 for a BASSOOONNNNN????
                                    u want a bassoooooonnn???


Following an unfortunate encounter with a St Johns ambulance whose driver dropped his clipboard and while trying to get it out from under the pedals kangarooed into the back of her Peugeot, Sylvia was in need of a new car, or at least a different one. I had promised to go with her for company and support.

I set off the following Wednesday, collected Sylvia in Rotherham, and set my GPS for Derby Road, Nottingham, and places which were more or less on the way. After inspecting various suitable and unsuitable vehicles in Nottinghamshire villages, and after finding out we were going the wrong way on what was probably the wrong Derby Road, we finally reached Windblowers on time.

We were shown into a small room surrounded by various beautiful instruments in glass cases, and Pete brought in the bassoon. He assembled it for me, and explained that it was still a bit flat. “Exactly how flat?” I asked. Pete, after explaining that he wasn’t a bassoonist, proceeded to play it into an auto tuner. The needle swung violently in all directions, so it didn’t really tell me much. He then let me play it.

The whole point of the Grade 1 Challenge is to learn an instrument you’ve never played before. I have actually handled a bassoon. Many years ago (I think I was about 12) when I was learning to play the trumpet, the vicar of our parish church, Horace Dammers, allowed us kids to form a sort of orchestra in the vicarage. I can remember the trombonist, who always managed to play the last note! After “rehearsals” we all tried out each other’s instruments. Chris, the vicar’s son, played the bassoon. I was fascinated by the complicated array of levers, rods and keys, especially the ones with rollers so your finger could slide from one to the other. I certainly had a go on it, although I’m not sure what sort of sound if any I was able to produce, what with the noise of everyone else blowing and scraping unfamiliar instruments. (A few years ago I met Horace Dammers’ widow in Bristol Cathedral. She remembered me, and said how much she had enjoyed the little orchestra in her front room. The instrument swapping, she said, was the best part.)