As we arrived in the cold, white, miserable Blackpool we knew we had a job to do. We pulled up outside the prestigious Winter Gardens I didnt know what to expect, as a contest virgin, I had only heard tales of what happened inside. The band got off the coach and instantly felt the elements as the short walk to the entrance felt like a lifetime. Once inside it was to the registration table, the band were drawn ninth out of eleventh to play. We were guided to what can only be described as a garage with chairs and coat hangers put in. This is where my nerves built up. The man in the box was Goff Richards, his reputation preceeded him. I only wish I could impress the man behind such greats as Breezin Down Broadway, Calling Cornwall and Voyage of Discovery. I picked up my baritone with nervous hands, having never played a baritone before in public I just knew I would make a mistake. We walked through the winter gardens holding our heads up high. I had never felt so proud before, I dont know what it was, the uniform or being in the company of some of the finest brass players in the North West. We got to the stage door and my nerves exploded. We entered the stage and took our seats. The dreaded whistle came. I began to play. Nothing happened. I had messed up the opening. The most crucial part of Images of the Millenium was ruined. I came in after a short break and everything seemed fine. I began to relax. The next movement began, the Dream-Nocturne. It was more like a nightmare all those high notes. I began to pray can I make those notes. The stage was dead. I felt like I was the only one present. This was even worse. I went into a dream myself, the adreneline started pumping, I had to do well. I couldnt think. Then it was over. I came off the stage in a dazed. I didn't know how we had performed all I wanted to do was get out of there. I snapped out of my dream when the chairman came to give an anticipate hall the results.