2
THE WORLD ENDS TWICE
I was up early on Tuesday and so was the lid on my piano. If I was to do any more than make a fool of myself in this competition, I had some serious practising ahead.
Ma Apples thought Mozart was plum to open my performance and Scriabin to end it. I had no argument on either count. The only issue was making the leap from what she called, “playing the correct notes in the right order” to playing them “in a fashion the composer would have approved of.”
Despite having never met Mr Mozart or Mr Scriabin, I doubted either could have matched Ma Apples when it came to being a fusspot.
Mum brought my practice to an end with the usual round of “You’re not going out on an empty stomach… is your school bag packed… shoes cleaned… brain polished…” I headed up the road to Gre
