Something New This Way Comes

- You're kidding me.

- No. Really.

- You're going to start playing the trumpet?

 Well, bugle, actually.

A pause.

- The bugle?

- Yes, you know. Ta-ta-tootle-tootle. Ta-ta-tootle-tootle. That one.

- What was that?

- That's the tune they play at dawn to wake everyone up. You've heard it: Revelly. You know. Cowboy films. Bugler by the flagpole. Get Out of Bed.

- Sounded more like raspberries. I suppose it could get someone out of bed though.

- I'm not actually playing a bugle, am I? Just doing the lips.

- I get that. Just kidding. So you've got an urge to play that raspberry tune.

And other tunes of course. There's a lot of great ones you can play: Have Breakfast. Charge and Attack Something. Run Away Quickly. Lots.

 And you want to play them on something a lot like a trumpet?

- Well, yes. Only the bugle is a bit mellower.

- Mellower?

- Timbre-wise. Not like Dizzy Gillespie and all that sharp, jazzy stuff.

- But loud. Right?

- A bit.

- How loud?

- Well, You know, loud ...ish

- You mean really loud?

- Ok then. Really loud. But you need to wake people up.

- You want to wake people up?

- We all need waking up, don't we? I can practice on you.

A longer pause.

- You know, there are alarm clocks for that sort of thing.

- Well, ok, waking people is just one of the benefits. Mostly, I just like the tunes. They're so exciting! The bugle makes you get going - do something. No one can sit still when the bugle plays.

- Your bugle would get people doing something? Right. Like getting up and banging on the wall and shouting at your neighbour to shut up for instance.

Another pause.

- Can I ask you something, bugler-boy?

- Sure

- Where do we live?

- Funny question. We know where we live!

- Let me try another way: We don't live in a little cottage miles from anywhere, do we? Like, with just sheep. Sheep who don't need help getting up in the morning.

- No. Of course we don't.

- Or some community for those of very impaired hearing?

- No, definitely not that.

- Right. We live on the seventh floor of a very tall block of flats. Yes? We have neighbours. Thin walls. People above us. People below us.

- Into the Valley of Death Rode the Six Hundred!

- What?

- Into the Valley of Death. You know. "Cannons to the left of them, cannons to the right..." Charge of the Light Brigade poem. Great film. You should hear the bugles!

- You're not getting it. You want to play the bugle. No, let's get it right: you want to start learning to play the bugle - AKA a brass thing designed to waken the dead - here, closely surrounded by people who, at the moment, actually like us. You know, neighbours. Eating, sleeping, watching telly; minding their own business. Not really thinking about, say, attacking anything. You don't think there might be a problem?

 - Ah. See where you're going. I've had a think about that. I'd blow quietly to begin with, until they get used to it. Or I'd practice on the balcony. There's no one out there.

- Have you looked recently?

- Well, yes? It's just fresh air.

- And the rest of the estate: more blocks of flats. And miles from some outpost where you need cavalry to charge.

Another pause

- I thought you wanted me to learn something new? Take my mind of 'things'.

- I do, I do. What was wrong with that harmonica?

- Too many holes

- Too many holes?

- Well, that. And you need to run your lips up and down the metal edge all the time. They were starting to wear out before I'd even got to a tune.

- I did noticed your lips looking a bit thinner.

- The bugle is much easier. Only one hole. At the end.

- Which end?

- Ha! Funny. Guess. You know what it looks like: brass, one end shaped like a bell; twirly bit in the middle...

- Oh I know what it looks like. And sounds like: Very loud. Fox-hunting, lets-go-chaps loud.

- No, that's a horn. A hunting horn. I'd never blow anything like that. I like foxes. Do you know the bugle also plays sad tunes? Like at funerals.

- Really? More waking the dead sort of thing?

- No. Quite lovely ones. Mournful. 'Go to Bed'. 'Turn the Taps Off', or something.

 But still loud, right?

 I suppose so. There isn't too much volume control on a bugle.

A longish pause.

 What about another instrument? Something quieter; a little more suited to thin walls and a block of flats?

- Like what?

- Oh, I don't know. Guitar?

- Electric? Now you're talking! I love Rock. I could amp up my room.

- No, no. Still loud. Remember that's the issue?

- Right. Pity. I could see myself throwing furniture around. They did that sometimes didn't they?

 That's a bit passé now. No, I was thinking more like Spanish guitar. Quiet murmuring among the senõritas. That sort of thing. We could have a Spanish evening. You put a rose in your mouth and serenade me at the table, around the paella...

- Nah. Can't see it really. The rose thing anyway. And we always have frozen pizza anyway.

 Ukelele?

 What?

 It's small, not too loud; and there's that whole happy, let's-hang-around-a-lampost schtick. Everyone laughs with the ukulele.

 I think you mean 'at' don't you? Stop smiling; it's not funny. I do have my reputation with the gang to think about. A bugle, see, would add to that.

 That's for sure.

A shorter pause.

 Harp?

 What about a harp?

 You could try the harp. You can get small ones which are very nice. And quiet. Heavenly music floating through the ether. I'd like that. Very calming. You could play in the evenings before bed.

 A harp is for dead people.

Don't be silly.

 Have you seen how many strings a harp has got? Harp players have a lot more fingers than most people.

 I'm sure that can't be right; I'd have noticed.

 Still. I can't see it.

 Violin? Fewer strings. Might work. The fiddle sounds fun. Happy.

- You think learning a violin in this tiny flat might be more acceptable to the neighbours than the bugle?

 Good point. I was getting a bit carried away.

 Anyway, what's with the strings? How about drums?

 No.

 Not even bongos? I could play bongos quietly - what's the word? 'Pianissimo' isn't it? I could bongo pianissimo.

 Really?

 But hey, have we talked about pianos? Oh, wait, you need more fingers again. And one eye above the other to read those stacked up notes. No, forget that. But bongos - you know, gentle, tropical, swaying sort of music. We could have Caribbean evenings, with piña coladas.

 It's winter.

 We could pretend.

 You'd be bongo-ing up a tropical storm before very long.

 I guess.

One more pause

 I still like my bugle idea. I think I'd like to blow something.

 Flute?

 One needs lips for a flute.

 You seem to have those. And you develop an embouchure.

 A what?

 A special shape with your lips to blow across the hole.

 But I often have chapped lips. You know, from living in this dry flat. And cold sores. I wouldn't want to make them worse by drooling.

 Drooling?

 Well I imagine you have to drool a lot when you start, as you build up your enclosure.

 Recorder?

 I took recorder at school, remember? Horrible. We had this class. Thirty children all playing just out of tune. Our music teacher stuck cotton wool in her ears. You came to our performance; winced a lot.

 Thanks for the memory. So, not that.

 I could play a tin whistle?

 Too piercing.

 Clarinet?

 Too much like crying.

 Saxophone?

 Too loud!

 What then? There must be some instrument I could play.

A pause, again.

 Comb and paper?