Dumped, Actually(6)

I’m straining my ears now to hear the beginning of ‘All of Me’ – but am disturbed to find I can’t hear anything. The agreement was that the band will start up as the riders stream out of the building. Why aren’t they playing?

With my eyes shielded from the sun, and my anxiety levels sky-rocketing, Samantha and I emerge from The Blitzer’s exit.

The second we do, I hear a loud voice from my immediate left, where the stage area is being momentarily blocked by bodies.

‘Eins! Zwei! Drei! Vier!’ it screams.

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

What the hell??

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

The crowd instantly parts, as if driven back by the cacophonous noise erupting from the stage. As they do, I see the band for the first time, and go into full panic mode.

In front of me are four portly gentlemen in green lederhosen, white shirts and peaked caps with feathers stuck in the bands. One is holding a tuba, one an accordion, the third a trombone and the fourth – the portliest of the four – is slightly out in front and blowing on a trumpet like his life depends on it. All of them are bouncing up and down on the spot in time with the rapid rhythm.

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

‘All of me loves all of you!’ the trumpeter starts to sing. ‘All of me loves all of you! All of me loves all of you! All of me! All of you!’

‘Oi!’ the rest of the band sing together.

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

‘Bloody hell!’ Samantha cries, wincing at the high-pitched trumpet. ‘What is this??’

I look at her in dismay. I wish I knew myself.

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

‘All of me loves all of you! All of me loves bits of you! Bits of me loves most of you! Parts of me! Most of you!’

‘Oi!’

Is he trying to sing ‘All of Me’?

Those aren’t even the right lyrics! They’re not even close!

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

I glance over to the right of the jigging four-part monstrosity, to see PR girl Amy standing off to one side with a mixed expression of horror and disbelief. Her expression is mirrored on the faces of pretty much everyone in the nonplussed crowd. Even those people excited to be having their go on the second outing of The Blitzer are completely frozen to the spot, such is the bizarre nature of what’s going on in front of them.

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

‘Some of me loves all of you! All of me loves parts of you! Chunks of me love lumps of you! Lumps of me! Chunks of you!’

‘Oi!’

I have to put a stop to this! I have to put a stop to this now!

On legs that are now incredibly shaky, I stumble over to the stage and throw my hands up.

‘Stop! For the love of all that’s holy, please stop!’

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH-PAH!

‘God, stop! Please, STOP!’

OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMPAH OOMP—

The band clatters to a halt instantly. If nothing else, they have some musical discipline about them.

The red-faced trumpeter looks down at me with concern. ‘Iz everyzing alright, Mister Oliver Sveet?’

I blink a couple of times – mostly due to the accent, if I’m being honest. I have to confess to being slightly stunned that the Germanic voice this man is speaking with matches the lederhosen so absolutely. There’s a beauty to its ridiculous perfection that part of me almost admires.

‘Who the hell are you?’ I ask him. ‘Where are The Light Touch Quartet? I was promised contemporary jazz!’

The man contrives to look deeply apologetic. ‘Ah. I zought you vould have been informed by Mister Barret Barzolemew?’

‘Informed of what?!’ I rage.

‘Ze Light Qvartet are zadly unable to be here today, on account of zome light food poisoning. Mister Barret Barzolemew zought we vould be a good replacement. My name is Horst, and ve are The Oompah Troompahs.’ He beams at me as he says this and waggles his trumpet.

I’m truly gobsmacked. ‘He thought replacing contemporary jazz with whatever the hell you lot are was a good idea??’

Horst looks slightly offended. ‘Ve are ze most popular Bavarian oompah band in ze zouth of England, I vill have you know.’ He puffs out his chest. ‘Ve are much respected!’

As if to underline this point, the trombonist gives me a short, sharp note on his instrument. It’s like some kind of audible exclamation mark – and it’s very annoying.

‘But I ordered contemporary jazz! It’s my girlfriend’s favourite!’

Speaking of whom . . .

‘Ollie? What the hell is going on? Have you got something to do with this?’

I spin around. ‘Ah . . . er . . . ah . . . yes! This was all supposed . . . supposed to be for you!’

Samantha looks amazed. And not in a good way. ‘You hired an oompah band for my birthday?’

I shake my head vigorously. ‘No! No! They were supposed to be contemporary jazz! They were supposed to be playing “All of Me”!’

‘Ve vere!’ Horst objects.

‘No, you bloody weren’t!’ I argue. ‘Chunks of me love lumps of you?!’