My regular reader may remember my lofty musical aspirations as I took up the piano at a ripe old age.
This was after having been thwarted in younger years by accidentally going out with the piano teacher’s son and then having to dump the lessons as it seemed easier than dumping him (do keep up).
Since my last update, I am sure you will have been wondering when I will be starring at a classical venue near you, so I feel it may be time to confess all.
What I now have in my life, rather than the thrill of plinking out my impressive repertoire, is a rather bulky upright item of furniture that fulfils several functions.
It serves as a perfect receptacle for a matching lamp; somewhere to leave empty cups and glasses on the way in from the garden; a lovely backdrop for a vase of flowers and yet another place on which people can lose keys, mobiles and wallets.
I recently said, in answer to a question from a family member: “It’s on the piano.”
“What piano?” came the response.
As my regular reader will remember, I left my dreams behind at the stage when I was plinking away, tongue poked out and breath mysteriously held, trying to master the sort of tune a five-year-old would find a wee bit too babyish.
I could not understand my lack of progress until a friend described her teenage son “cutting back to just an hour’s piano practise a day whilst exams are on”.
An hour? Every single day? “Just” an hour? What is he, some kind of pianobot?
I have now realised I have to up my game.
Wouldn’t it be lovely to have someone playing beautiful classical pieces as the revamped Perth City Hall is unveiled?
Until I am asked formally, I shall practise for at least an hour a day, look out a suitable outfit to wear for the debut (I think a tiara may be appropriate for the occasion) and continue to dust the bulky piece of furniture occasionally.