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To You,

It will probably not surprise you that I am in a wind band. Indeed, I have the three main qualifications: poor social skills, few friends, and a wind instrument. Namely a flute- I'm not sure why, as my fingers are far too thick to manoeuvre the twiddly bits that come with playing such an instrument, or "spitting down a pipe" as my friend calls it. Fool; I spit across it.

Anyway, as everyone knows, Friday night is Wind Band night so, instead of hitting the booze and parties like my peers, I take a half-hour drive to spit across a pipe with other like-minded outcasts. Today, we played Holst's 'Mars', which, as my mother put it, "sounded like someone giving birth". It really did. It feels as though he just threw some dots at a page and decided that wherever they landed would be the 'tune'. It's potentially the worst piece of music I have ever heard- it's in 5/4 time, so sounds as awkward as Hitler in a synagogue. I actually quit like it when I listen to it elsewhere; it's probably us being pants.

We also played a jolly mash-up of cowboy film music. We flutes play the 'waoowaoowaaaa' of 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' tremendously well, in complete contrast to the twiddly bits of Mars. Come to think of it, we only played those two pieces. For two hours. Oh my, I was ready to leave come half eight this evening!

Strangely though, I sit on the end of the front row- a position usually reserved for the best flautist in the band. This is not the case with me, however; I sit there because I chose a random space near the back on my first day, and have moved progressively towards the front as previous leaders leave. In short, it is NOTHING to do with talent. In fact, I'm sure those behind me are much better, and they're a good four or five years younger than me. I put it down to thin fingers and young minds unoccupied with remembering things like theories on language and gender, how to crochet, and not to act like a complete sociopath whenever outside the house- both of which will unfortunately change as soon as they sit in the plastic principal chair. Also, I'm convinced that every time our conductor looks at me, thoughts of "this moving-forward system needs to change" instantly flock to his mind.

I doubt I'll get much better, to be frank. In my Grade 6 exam, this discourse actually happened:
Examiner: "Can you do a diminished seventh in the key of G#?"
Me: Probably not." (Tries) No. Thought not.
Examiner: Can you do a dominant seventh starting on Db?
Me: I don't think so, do you? (Doesn't bother trying)
Later, Examiner gives Me four marks off a distinction, making Me wonder whether we were both in the same exam.
I've got my Grade 8 in the summer; I'll probably do a similar thing, but without the surprising outcome. Oh, I know how I'll do, and I'm preparing for the "That £82 entrance fee was a bit of a waste then, wasn't it" conversation with my parents.

£82? That's a bit steep. For that price, I'd expect refreshments and an executive lounge complete with jacuzzi.

Yours (not very) musically,

M.

P.S. No word on our chance encounter last night from my English teacher today. This is making me feel as though it wasn't him, having made a big hoo-hah over a random, uncannily similar-looking bystander. Remember what I said about not acting like a crazy person whenever outside? Yeah, that's not me.