Night of the Mulberry Wine

Orchestra tours were always an excuse to see many of Europe’s most interesting towns and cities, and locate the English-speaking bars in these places. Obviously we went on tour to play music, but this was a very distant priority compared to Getting Pissed and Getting Acquainted With Ladies.

On tour in Italy, the trombone and tuba sections were foolishly allocated a four-bed room together. Given that, by this time, Man Mountain Paul was one of the only people in the orchestra who had achieved the Holy Grail of legal drinking status, sharing a room with him was perhaps not the most carefully-thought-out of moves.

The strange Italian Youth Hostel we were in was strictly segregated. One floor held the boys, the other held the girls. In between, there were some large, annoyingly cool Italian watchmen. In the boys section, our room was designated the Alcohol Storage Depot for all the people there. Given the legal status of Paul, he was willing to store and take the blame for all the alcohol and empties, in exchange for a tariff – 25% of all alcohol stores.

Unfortunately, one night, we had a party, and Paul got rather carried away, demolishing the vast majority of the alcohol store which we hadn’t so far managed to put away, while we looked on in awe. The carnage that ensued is quite memorable. After a biscuit fight, using the home-baked cookies that Big Ian’s mum had given him to bring with him (most of which ended up out of the window), Paul finished off the remainder of his Home-Brewed Mulberry Wine, belched and toppled over.

A comatose Paul was an opportunity too good to miss. While he was passed out, we covered his head in toothpaste and shaving foam. We then put cigarettes in his ears and nose (not lit – Paul WAS gigantic after all – 6ft 6, and 25 stone). He didn’t wake up. Then we shaved his legs (alright, we were stupid, we know). He still didn’t wake up, even when Big Ian took a chunk out of his knee. Unfortunately, Big Ian’s brother Mark, the Percussionist, then decided to go a little too far. Taking the empty two-litre bottle of Mulberry Wine Paul had earlier finished off, he proceeded to insert it, narrow end first and with some force, into Paul’s arse. An enormous cry went out. Then, miraculously he passed out again.

Photos were taken. Again, a bad idea.

With Paul unconscious, and the booze gone, we then had to decide what to do next. The night was, after all, young. So we decided to make a break for the Girl’s quarters. At the time, I was going out with a rather lovely violinist, who had expressed a desire earlier, to cross the line into our quarters. So an exchange was agreed. I would create a diversion on the boys’ side, and while the watchmen were distracted, the boys and the girl would swap sides.

The diversion was quite easy to create really. I simply claimed someone was locked out of one of our rooms, and we needed a key to get back in. So, while the guard was otherwise distracted, the majority of the boys’ section emptied into the girls arena, while the lovely Davina escaped into our section, and hid in one of the rooms while the Security Guard attempted to let me back into my room.

Once this amazing feat had been completed, and we had received the OK from the floor above (From the window above, Mark throwing some alcohol from the girls’ side down to me on the balcony below), Davina and I got on with the important business of finding a suitable location to “entertain” ourselves in. Our room was out, due to the large comatose Man Mountain in there. Most of the other rooms were locked, apart from those with a few “sensible” people in who hadn’t made the mad break for freedom. Consequently, the only remaining place was the shower block.

Bad mistake.

No sooner had we ventured in there and begun feverishly trying to discover how many layers each other was wearing, one of the “sensible” boys decided to take a late-night shower. On entering the block he was surprised and announce, in a loud voice “Davina! What are you doing here?”

The noise alerted the guards. Resisting the desire to beat said boy to death with whatever blunt instrument I could find, we frantically tried to find a place for Davina to hide. She ended up going for a changing cubicle.

The guards entered, and demanded to know, in best pidgin English, why we had chosen to shower at such a stupid time. God knows why it annoyed them so much – they probably thought myself and the Muppet Child were having some man love out of ours. Or they did think that, until they ordered us back to our room, and then proceeded to knock on the changing room where Davina was hidden, demanding that the occupant leave the shower so they can lock it.

So there was no choice. Davina sheepishly came out, at which all Hell broke loose. She was marched to the other side, and in the progress of this, the Guards bumped into the boys hastily exiting the girls’ section. Having heard raised voices, they’d decided to beat a hasty retreat. In the chaos that ensued, Davina broke loose and escaped into the girls’ section. There was no such luck for Mark, Big Ian and myself though. The Guards proceeded to give us quite a thorough kicking. The bastards knew they could get away with this, because if we were to complain, it would automatically imply that we’d been up to something which was Against The Rules.

So battered and bruised and frustrated, we retreated to our rooms. Entering the carnage that was our room, we stepped over the comatose Man Mountain, and started tidying. Empties were stashed into two rucksacks (including the bottle, which was dislodged from Paul’s colon). Ash trays and remaining biscuits were emptied out of the windows. We slept…

…until we were ordered out of our room at 7am for a meeting with the Conductor. Turns out that, immediately below our window, our Tour coach was parked. A coach which was now coated in dregs of beer, cigarette ash and cookies. This, coupled with Paul (who was still covered in shaving foam and toothpaste, barely coherent and complaining about his arse hurting), and the discovery of the rucksacks of empties (roughly 80 or so – we’d foolishly stored all the empties for all the rooms since we’d arrived) meant that the next few concerts on tour were done without a Lower Brass Section.

Paul’s revenge is another story.