Piano Forte

The insides of things – now aren’t they fascinating. People, planets, presents and of course, pianos. It’s something to do with them being secret and hidden as well as their intellectual appeal; a frisson of fear in case of nasty surprises, the excitement of discovery and the slightly guilty pleasure in peeking where perhaps you shouldn’t, the joy of seeing something that adds meaning to the outside.


So, when the piano tuner came I looked forward to seeing the ordered array of working parts, particularly because some the keys stick or make no sound when you try to play piano. However, because of its unknown, but doubtless chequered history, Clive said it could only play forte. I had hoped for a soft option, to spare the neighbours, as I actually can’t play, other than very, very slowly and simply, for therapeutic purposes.


I also received a present through the post from lovely cousin Anita. It was the best sort, all wrapped up in brown paper with a box inside. The box was filled with smaller packages, all beautifully wrapped and ribboned. Inside these were layers of homemade chocolate and coconut slices, cardamom crackers and Canterbury cheese and a turned wooden spoon, smoothly tactile with the grain making wavy patterns on its surface. It’s made to be used but I’m not sure I can bear to make it dirty.