The whole time I was at school I only knew one boy who had piano lessons –  Gordon.  He always said it was his Mum’s idea,  and we believed him because we needed him to play second row, plus he was quite a good kicker.  Gordie left school in Year 9 to work underground with his Dad at Oakleigh Collieries’ Number 2 pit.  He pretty much lost interest in the piano lessons after that,  though he kept playing footy.

Last night the four of us went to the New Year’s Day concert performed by the Slovenian Philharmonic Orchestra in Ljubljana’s Cultural Centre. It was wonderful.

One of the performers was a pianist,  who I’m guessing hadn’t worked in the mines,  but rather kept going with his lessons.  Catrina said he was good,  but I just became fixated on how big his jaw was and how much he looked like Buzz Lightyear in tux and tails. The tenor and the rest of the orchestra I enjoyed immensely.

Those who have had the pleasure of hearing me sing would know that I am completely bereft of any musical talent –  a gene that has been passed on fully to both kinder. You would also know that this doesn’t deter me in any way from making weird,  tuneless humming sounds and attempting to keep time with annoying hand and foot movements.  When transported by last night’s music I certainly relished the opportunity to make weird humming sounds and annoying tapping movements.

My poor music teacher at school – Miss Moneypenny (and yes that was her real name) would now be considered to be underperforming as some of her students did not produce desired outcomes!  My  musical abilities had nothing to do with her.  She was pretty shit though,  just the same.

I at least had enough insight to know not to clap unless Catrina and Margie did, and not to call out or go to the toilet during the slow bits. (A warning my children-  do not ever go to a classical music performance unless accompanied by someone who understands the genre. The rules are far too complicated.  I feel that Mother and I are now qualified to take you,  though Catrina or Margie may in fact be a better choice.)

To complete the evening? What else but a Slovenian Beatles cover band giving a free outdoor concert in one of the snow-covered squares on the walk home.

I said at intermission that even in my wildest dreams, as a lad in Rosewood I would never have imagined even the possibility that one day I might be listening to a Slovenian orchestra in Ljubljana.  In fact at school I couldn’t even imagine sitting down and listening to Gordie play something he had been practising on his Mum’s piano. 

As my dear friend Remington would say – life can be weird like that sometimes.

Farley and the Maestro from BEAUTIFUL Ljubljana