Beastly Journeys : Unusual Tales of Travel With Animals (9781784775452) by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784775452
Publisher: Vearsa
Published: 2018-05-23T05:00:00+00:00

The Show Must Go On

Sarah Pope

I propose a toast. To the English musicians!’

Felix stared at the vodka bottle. ‘It’s full of goldfish!’

Galya shook her head, and poured three shots, fast. ‘Nyet! No fish!’

It was spiked with red chillies.

‘Tomorrow you play like romantic Russians. No more polite English violinists. Welcome to Russian Christmas Orchestra tour UK.’ Galya was the tour manager.

Felix and I were last-minute substitutes in the Russian Christmas Orchestra. We had never met before. It was the start of two weeks on the festive road, taking in Wolverhampton, Glasgow, Leeds and Margate.

All day, we’d been rehearsing Nutcracker Fun, like mice in a maze: ‘Too fast, too quiet, too loud, too Brexit, you have played a wrong note…’ The musical director tried to make us into romantic Russians, while the keyboard player complained that his hands couldn’t be expected to perform the ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ solo in this very cold theatre. ‘Russian cold good. English cold bad.’

Now we were sitting on Galya’s bed, in her budget Earl’s Court hotel room, waiting for the smokers to come in from the English cold. They were making the most of their duty-frees, out in the bus shelter under the Christmas lights. The whole neighbourhood pulsed with orange angels and reeked of Golden Fleece filter tips.

A black holdall, the size of a donkey, blocked the bathroom, where more bottles were cooling. Galya unzipped a corner to extract a framed photo from the company provisions. Nobody planned to spend their subsistence allowance on food, so Galya kept the holdall stocked with tinned fish, Russian salad and duty-frees, along with the company paperwork and music library.

‘See,’ said Galya, ‘The two stupid Mr Stradivarius talk to Mr Sugar Plum Fairy.’

It was a publicity shot of two white-tie-and-tails violinists we didn’t recognise, posing with today’s Sugar Plum Fairy keyboard soloist, in his white-ruff collar and cuffs.

‘Maestro Cold Finger himself! Look at those frills,’ said Felix.

‘The two Mr Stradivarius, who do not listen to advice from UK Foreign Office,’ Galya shrugged, and kissed the picture, ‘So you are here, in their place, English violinists. Welcome.’

Apparently, the two Mr Stradivarius had infringed the new international eco-legislation. Border Force at Heathrow had impounded their priceless eighteenth-century violins, because they were decorated with ‘endangered species’ Brazilian rosewood and ivory. The two were probably still at the airport, arguing with security.

‘Now they must buy new sustainable violins, made in China, for tour,’ said Galya, ‘and we must pay young polite violinists, made in England, until they return.’

She set the chillies swimming and poured another round.

‘Shall I… call… for a take-away?’ But Felix fell asleep, head slumped on my shoulder, before he could find his phone.

‘Two problems,’ said Galya.

She was sitting beside me on the overheated orchestra coach to Wolverhampton, her feet on the donkey-sized holdall. Every now and then, someone asked the driver to turn the heating up or down, and the music off. I was trying to sleep. It was 7.30 a.m. and the M40 was crawling with holiday traffic.

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