Andy - stout fellow that he is - has got tickets for Wynton Marsalis at the refurbished Ronnie Scotts for the first week in August, and one is earmarked for me. Forty five notes is a bit steep for a ticket for anyone, but an opportunity to see the best trumpeter in the world in as intimate a venue as Ronnie's is not to be passed up.
Strange about me, trumpets and Andy. I first struck up an acquaintance with him years ago when we were working on an oil rig design at Bechtel's offices in London, and I noticed that every lunchtime he would pull out his horn, pop a mute in the bell and find an empty office for half an hour's practice.
He was responsible for me seeing Arturo Sandoval in Ronnie Scott's as I tagged along to support Andy's brother Phil who was in the support band.
And he was also at the kill for one of my key musical experiences when we were in the front row at the Hammersmith Odeon watching Miles Davis, so close to the great man himself that I could hear his trumpet's valves tapping as he played.
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