Trombone man

I have just been released from hospital after wading across the river Besòs in full, pink, evening dress (with knickers, ladies) playing Arthur Pryor’s variations on The Blue Bells of Scotland on a Conn 8H tenor trombone. Having almost drowned in midstream after being hit by a large patch of floating sewage, I am most disappointed that, unlike Piano Man, I have not yet been offered lucrative engagements on Caribbean cruise liners catering to the Wisconsin divorcee market. Last night I wept tears of gin as I showed a sample of my compositions to a music teacher. She said I was very sad, but that, apparently, is not enough.

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