I rented an apartment some … 20 years ago. Great central place, great view and a decent price.
The day after moving in I’m sitting on the john doing no.2, when suddenly I hear the sound of horns. Thinking it’s my girlfriend playing a prank I ask her to cut it out, but she comes knocking on the door asking what the hell I’m doing in there and if I’m alright?
Turns out the local marching band choose this street to start their weekly routine and also for the semiweekly practices. Every Saturday morning I was rudely awaken by the sound of poorly played marching songs.
Forward ten years and I move into my current house. A few months later after supper, I hear horn music from outside and go to the window to see the entire town lined up with burning torches and a marching band. I call my now wife over “they’ve come for you honey”.
Turns out was the annual Sct. George (scouting stuff?) march.
I gave in. When my kids grew old enough we joined the march.
Story.
I rented an apartment some … 20 years ago. Great central place, great view and a decent price.
The day after moving in I’m sitting on the john doing no.2, when suddenly I hear the sound of horns. Thinking it’s my girlfriend playing a prank I ask her to cut it out, but she comes knocking on the door asking what the hell I’m doing in there and if I’m alright?
Turns out the local marching band choose this street to start their weekly routine and also for the semiweekly practices. Every Saturday morning I was rudely awaken by the sound of poorly played marching songs.
Forward ten years and I move into my current house. A few months later after supper, I hear horn music from outside and go to the window to see the entire town lined up with burning torches and a marching band. I call my now wife over “they’ve come for you honey”.
Turns out was the annual Sct. George (scouting stuff?) march.
I gave in. When my kids grew old enough we joined the march.