It is this morning. I am standing in small room I have paid to be in. I am alone, but confronted by a beast from my past that I am here to prod gently, to see if it stirs.
I feel guilty because I "Haven't Been Practicing"..
...which is ridiculous, because I was last asked to do piano practice ooh a good fifteen years ago!
So it's like this. In darker moments of recent months, quite out of nowhere, I have felt a.. okay, I can find no better word.. yearning to play some notes on a piano. I know. It's all very middle-class, n'est pas?!
(And I mean piano. Not a keyboard, not an I-can't-believe-it's-an-electric-piano-piano*, not an organ (missus). A piano. It didn't need to be posh or fancy - a battered old upright would have done.)
Now. I only got as far as Grade Two, thanks to some rather futile years discovering I was basically awful at guitar. But I was curious to see if I could remember anything. And the desire kept recurring, despite not having touched one for a good decade.
So I arranged a marvellously cheap hour in a practice room and found out. It was so much fun! Turns out that with a bit of practice I could just about stumble through some simple stuff. And it was remarkable to feel that odd sensation of trying to coordinate two hands doing different things at the same time, like trying to twist your brain in two different directions, while emptying the washing machine. I haven't felt that in years.
I might try again. Stand back world.
I should, at this juncture, point out that I once made my piano teacher actually scream. Loudly. Really loudly. I dunno, something about not practicing some chords or scales or something...
Maybe I'll do less Bartok and more the theme form Ski Sunday this time. Maybe.
* Because I really can. And yes you can tell the difference. Listen to some of the stuff on the radio.