At the end of each rehearsal, or gig, our trombonist would have a look of utter contentment on his face, and red, blodgie and swollen lips.
I was playing clarinet with a band taking part in the Edinburgh Festival Parade. The trombones were in the front rank. In a moment of exuberance one of the trombone players lost his slide. It flew off the instrument and out of his hand. By some fluke the thing flew back at him. He caught it and re-engaged it with the rest of the instrument in one deft move. After the parade , the parade organiser, a retired army brass hat, told our band director that he had seen some tricks in his day, but nothing to beat that one.