It was hot and stuffy in the pub. Filippo hung up his jacket as Bianca went up to the bar. He plumped down at a table with a good view of the stage. The drum kit reminded him of the time in Italy when he still used to play and perform. He hadn’t found anyone in Wageningen to share that hobby with, and he hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to do something about that. Bianca joined him and put two beer glasses down on the table.
‘Why are we here again?’ he asked, tearing his gaze away from the drum kit. ‘Well, I know you like music so I thought an open mic night would be nice! And maybe you could play too…’
Exactly what he was afraid of. ‘No way! I don’t really play anything anyway.’ He might miss his music but he had no wish for his housemates to start interfering. Bianca did not insist and together they listened to the acts. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Filippo drumming his fingers on the table in time with all the numbers. But she didn’t say anything. Until she overheard a conversation at the next table: ‘Daan isn’t coming? But we need a drummer!’ She turned around and saw a couple of clearly stressed people standing there. ‘Sorry,’ said Bianca, ‘but I happened to hear what you said and my friend here is a great drummer!’
Filippo look up with a start and told Bianca to shut up, but the group was bearing down on him eagerly and before he knew it he was being dragged onto the podium. Why was he doing this? He hadn’t played for ages. Nervously he sat down and tried to get the trembling drum sticks still. He started out hesitantly, trying out the beat and getting it after a few bars. By the time they reached the chorus he was carried away by the music and his head emptied.
The act was over before he knew it and as he walked off stage with a big smile, several people came up to him. ‘That wasn’t bad! We are looking for a drummer, are you interested?’ He looked around for Bianca. She answered his doubtful gaze with a thumbs-up.