A bloke I met in a pub told me this story...
Discussion
Pub near Kingston, regulars mostly professional musicians. A trumpet player with a BBC orchestra told the story about:
THE NEW PERCUSSIONIST
The BBC planned two evenings of the 1812 Overture, the first as a dry run for a live concert on Radio 3. The new percussionist had dramatic plans. For the 16 cannon shots he proposed to have 16 small plastic dustbins each containing a black powder charge wired back to a board each with its own switch. The first concert was in a Salvation Army Hall. The building was Victorian and the walls were half glazed with frosted glass. The great and good of the town were there and the concert was well under way. Then it came to the cannon shots and the percussionist threw the first switch. Unfortunately, he'd wired them in series and all sixteen went off at once. The trumpet player said they sat and watched in horror as all the blameless 150 year old glass blew out - and then back in again.
The percussionist wasn't sacked but for the Radio 3 live concert the wiring was carefully checked. This concert was in another Victorian building, a Town Hall in The Potteries that boasted unique Wedgewood friezes. When the cannon part came the first switch was thrown and the first dustbin went off perfectly. Unfortunately, the lid had been left on. All the lids had been left on. The percussionist didn't have time to remove them and could only watch as the lids frisbeed their way round the upper reaches of the auditorium bouncing off the irreplaceable friezes and showering plaster and dust on the audience. Up to four lids were in the air at once. The brass section were in the most trouble, "Can you imagine trying to blow a trumpet when you're laughing your head off?"
Unfortunately, the smoke from the black powder set the fire alarm off and the Floor Manager and his assistant had to run silently among the audience encouraging them to stay in their seats trying to limit the disruption to the live radio concert. When the Fire Brigade arrived they found most of the audience in their seats sheltering under umbrellas from debris and the threat of the sprinklers coming on.
THE NEW PERCUSSIONIST
The BBC planned two evenings of the 1812 Overture, the first as a dry run for a live concert on Radio 3. The new percussionist had dramatic plans. For the 16 cannon shots he proposed to have 16 small plastic dustbins each containing a black powder charge wired back to a board each with its own switch. The first concert was in a Salvation Army Hall. The building was Victorian and the walls were half glazed with frosted glass. The great and good of the town were there and the concert was well under way. Then it came to the cannon shots and the percussionist threw the first switch. Unfortunately, he'd wired them in series and all sixteen went off at once. The trumpet player said they sat and watched in horror as all the blameless 150 year old glass blew out - and then back in again.
The percussionist wasn't sacked but for the Radio 3 live concert the wiring was carefully checked. This concert was in another Victorian building, a Town Hall in The Potteries that boasted unique Wedgewood friezes. When the cannon part came the first switch was thrown and the first dustbin went off perfectly. Unfortunately, the lid had been left on. All the lids had been left on. The percussionist didn't have time to remove them and could only watch as the lids frisbeed their way round the upper reaches of the auditorium bouncing off the irreplaceable friezes and showering plaster and dust on the audience. Up to four lids were in the air at once. The brass section were in the most trouble, "Can you imagine trying to blow a trumpet when you're laughing your head off?"
Unfortunately, the smoke from the black powder set the fire alarm off and the Floor Manager and his assistant had to run silently among the audience encouraging them to stay in their seats trying to limit the disruption to the live radio concert. When the Fire Brigade arrived they found most of the audience in their seats sheltering under umbrellas from debris and the threat of the sprinklers coming on.
Thanks! Last week I was killing time in the pub on Marylebone Station when a minor incident inspired me to text mates seeking advice. One of the recepients, PH'er Al Wyn, invited me to post the text as a new thread. I wasn't sure it was strong enough, but my youngest son's answer reminded me of the story I did post. So, here we go with the original text:
Long story, but I'm in la boozaire on Marylebone Station and the almost unbearably strong smell of lavender soap turns out to be emanating from one of my fellow drinkers. I would alert him to his inappropriate life choices except he's seven feet tall and looks like a younger and meaner Arthur Mullard. Suggestions please. It's spoiling me beer.
For younger readers unacquainted with Arthur Mullard, imagine an English version of one of Tony Soprano's henchmen: big, well dressed in a gangster sort of way, not terribly bright and the recipient of many lost boxing matches.
Some of my correspondents' ideas were not sparklingly good. My son's plan however was inspired. He suggested I tuck myself into a corner, put up my umbrella and set fire to something. He felt sure the sprinklers would clear the place, wash away the smell and leave me an empty pub to enjoy.
I didn't. I didn't have an umbrella or any matches. But it did remind of the story about the new percussionist.
Long story, but I'm in la boozaire on Marylebone Station and the almost unbearably strong smell of lavender soap turns out to be emanating from one of my fellow drinkers. I would alert him to his inappropriate life choices except he's seven feet tall and looks like a younger and meaner Arthur Mullard. Suggestions please. It's spoiling me beer.
For younger readers unacquainted with Arthur Mullard, imagine an English version of one of Tony Soprano's henchmen: big, well dressed in a gangster sort of way, not terribly bright and the recipient of many lost boxing matches.
Some of my correspondents' ideas were not sparklingly good. My son's plan however was inspired. He suggested I tuck myself into a corner, put up my umbrella and set fire to something. He felt sure the sprinklers would clear the place, wash away the smell and leave me an empty pub to enjoy.
I didn't. I didn't have an umbrella or any matches. But it did remind of the story about the new percussionist.
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