Will raises an interesting point - though I'd suggest that maybe his jazz days were spent among the very laid-back or the terminally nice if he managed to escaped some of the schisms and shibboleths that get banged around.

The band I played in regularly were, as individuals, as argumentative and obstreperous a bunch as you could find on many occasions! The baritone/tenor sax player thought anything beyond 1930 was rubbish; the trumpet player liked skin & punk; the young double bass player didn't understand the then meaning of the term "R&B"; the trombone player was a cynical old twat who just loved winding anyone up; the alto sax player was just repressed; the drummers - for we never had just the one - kept coming and going. The only sane member of the whole lot was the guitarist/tenor banjo player - and I'm not so sure about him! Read George Melly's "Owning Up" and you get some idea of what jazz band life was like in the '50s and '60s. Well, it hadn't changed much in the '70s and '80s!

But - when we got together to play - we played our hearts out and strove to make the occasion as good as it could be. We took the piss out of each other when a solo was fluffed, and then forgot it immediately.

A fond memory: We'd been playing at a jazz festival in Middelburg, in Holland. We came back on the Olau Line ferry and docked, very late at night, at Sheerness. The passengers were queued up deep in lines of barriers that ran round and round until they came to the Customs desk. The Customs officials - out of sheer maliciousness - were being over thorough, checking everyone out, making everyone empty their suitcases. The trumpet player - on a whim - began to bleat like a sheep. He was joined by the rest of the band - and then by all the other passengers queuing. The Customs guys just didn't know what to do and, with red faces, just waved everyone through...