Rondo

Our Alice plays the French horn. Probably the most famous horn piece of all time is this one by Mozart.

In consequence, at fêtes and concerts all through the summer, Alice is called upon to play it.

The only drawback is that it's fiendishly difficult.

She realised early that she had no choice; if she wanted to play French horn in a performance band, then playing that Rondo was non-negotiable — mandatory.

The neighbours at Beaufort Road (where we lived with Alice and Hebe) are remarkably patient and understanding. Alice used to practice in the attic room, which gets very hot in summer and cold in winter. Because all the gigs were in the summer — well, the ones with the Rondo were; it's all Good King Wenceslas and Hark the herald in the winter concerts — this meant Alice playing that piece on repeat for hours with the windows wide open until she got it absolutely right. Because it's essentially a solo, so for a concert it had to be error-free.

And she did get it right, and personally I never got tired of hearing it, and our neighbours (God bless them) never once complained.

But every time I heard it, and I do mean every time, what I was listening to in my mental interior was this rendition by Flanders and Swann.