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Try re-reading it using various different accents. It's fun.    Or learn some History    Or read some poetry: "You are duff, Father William," said young horn three, "And your sound is incredibly light.  Yet you play an 8D with its bell on your knee.  Do you think you are blowing it right?" "In my youth," Father William replied to the man, "I would play on a medium bore.  So now I don't blow quite as hard as I can.  If I did, I'd be breaking the law." "You are duff," said the man, "As I told you before,  And you always drink too much cheap wine,  Yet you've just done first horn in Rach. Two and Brahms Four  And I'm told that they both sounded fine." "In my youth," said the Sage, as he reached for his glass, "I drank whisky, gin, vodka and rum.  This wine, though it's cheap, isn't in the same class,  So my chops never feel quite that numb." "You are old", said the youth "And your chops are too duff  For the pieces you're trying to play.  Yet your solos will never come out coarse or rough.  How much practise do you do each day?" "In my youth", said the Duffer, "I exercised hard  And did press-ups just using my lips.  Now I eat duff food swimming in oil, grease and lard  But my mouthpiece, I swear, never slips." "You are old", said the youth, "One would hardly suppose  That your hands could remain quite so still.  Yet you sit there most calm. Have you taken a dose  Of some confidence-boosting, pink pill?" "I have answered three questions and that is enough."  Curiosity's something I hate.  I'll be sad if you think that I'm being too tough,  But, I'm sorry, you've just lost this date."                               Nocturne                                  Elevennyson The standard falls, the session palls And snarly high notes hold no glory. My long notes shake from take to take; Ask Tony Catterick, he'll tell you the whole story. No, bugles, no! Try not to knock them flying. Bugles NO! Answer, "O.K., Maestro. Trying, trying, trying." Oh dark, this beer, yet thin and clear, Now down my gullet farther going. Oh sweet, this jar, for lip with scar. It stops my health from fainter growing. "Go, get us beer!", some purple men are crying. "Bugles, GO!" Answer, "O.K.". Answer, "Buying, buying, buying." I'd love to try, now slightly high, Those faint bits that I thought I'd never. Just one cheese roll and I've the soul To play forever and forever. Blow, bugles, blow! Set the bright meters tweaking. Answer, sound desk, answer, "Peaking, peaking, peaking!".