Beethoven

I know it's a very difficult time of year, dear Little. I seem to have lost all glimpse of last autumns' peace , the sense that you and me, we had arrived somewhere at last together. I am missing you desperately again, and I notice, this 4th year, no new feelings that have not been felt before, just generally more taciturn grumpiness. So it was with relish that we heard Jean- Bernard Pommier at King's Place, slamming out uncompromisingly all the power, passion, fire, love and anger of the Beethoven Sonata's. Yes, that's what I need, I thought, as he delved into the piano; You can afford to be very grumpy if you can release art like that.

So. I have been practising, very slowly and painfully (in every sense) my Hanon, and the first beautiful and sad chords of the slow movement of the Appassionata. At least, I can make the song for you.

I listened to Glenn Gould play it in the car this evening, and I thought, how alike that D flat phrase - that unfurls into tentative and faltering variation - how alike it is to the last 4 years of doing life without you and trying to make sense of it .

Challan, your secret name, and Challen, mine.