California, USA (Circa 1986): I was happily practicing "duck calls" in my hotel room when there was a sudden pounding at the door...
When I was in my late twenties, my company sent me to California for a business trip that would consume several weeks. This, I decided, would the ideal time for me to start to learn the clarinet. Truth to tell, I had long toyed with the idea of mastering the clarinet, but had never actually gotten around to doing anything about it until...
A few weeks earlier I had been visiting my parents for the weekend. While sitting in the front room watching some program on television with my dad, it just so-happened that someone on the program was playing the clarinet. Just for the sake of "a conversational starter for ten points" I said: "I've often thought about learning to play one of those."
"Well," replied my dad, "there's one in the loft, why don’t you take it with you?" He wandered off and returned a little later bearing a box containing a fine clarinet along with some "Learn To Play The Clarinet" type music books.
Since, to the best of my knowledge, no one in our family had ever played this instrument, you might have expected me to ask: "How is it that you happen to have a clarinet and associated music books in your loft?" Long experience, however, had taught me that such a query would result in a tortuous and unlikely tale that could well occupy the rest of my visit ... so I held my peace.
Thus it was that I arrived in California with a clarinet in my briefcase. A few days later on a Saturday afternoon, I was in my hotel room when I decided to take a gander at one of my "Learn To Play The Clarinet" music books. This informed me that if my reed was dry, it should be soaked for some amount of time in a glass of water, which is what I proceeded to do.
After soaking, I was instructed to attach the reed to the mouthpiece, but to keep this separate from the body of the instrument. On the basis that you have to learn to walk before you can run, the book suggested blowing through the mouthpiece while pressing with your lips and trying to make whatever sounds you could achieve, just to get the feel of the thing.
So I spent a happy time wandering around my room making noises that to my untrained ear were strangely reminiscent of a constipated duck. It wasn't too long before my lips had become completely numb, so I decided to take a well-earned break. A few minutes after I'd settled myself into a chair with a good book, however, I was interrupted by an extremely loud pounding on my hotel room door.
I strolled across the room and opened the door to be presented with two of the largest, meanest-looking policemen I'd ever seen. The impression they gave was that they were quivering with anticipation and – given the slightest provocation – they were poised to leap into my room and bear me to the ground.
Now, it had belatedly struck me (when I first heard the pounding) that the hotel management may not be lovers of music, but an armed response did seem a trifle excessive...
The officers asked if they might enter my room and – as I had nothing to hide – I of course acquiesced. While one of them stayed by my side, the other went for a wander around my bedroom, bathroom, etc. When he returned, he asked as to the whereabouts of my "wife, girlfriend, or lady-friend."
For some reason my response of "Manchester, England," didn’t go down too well. He explained that he was talking about the woman who had – until recently – been with me in my room. I said that I had been on my own all afternoon and asked what had led him to believe that I had someone with me.
He replied that the hotel lobby had received complaints that a woman was being beaten and tortured in my room and that there were "terrible screams of pain".
All became clear. I showed the officers my "Learn To Play The Clarinet" book and treated them to an example of my progress. They informed me that it would probably be a good idea to wait until I returned home before I continued my voyage of discovery.
Sad to relate, however, I'd lost my enthusiasm ... so that was the day I both started and stopped learning to play the clarinet.
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