Summary
WHEN I was about five years old, my mother sent me to learn to play the piano. Sadly, I was a lazy wee blighter, only ever practised the half-hour before the lesson and secretly just went for the fruit boilings that were offered at the end. I wept and wailed and begged my mum to be freed from the tyranny of practising scales and playing stupid songs with names like 'Putt putt putt goes the little speed boat'. "But you'll be sorry when you're older if you don't persevere now, " she would say sagely. But I wasn't having any of it.
So she let me stop and, of course, I have spent myadult life wishing I was the kind of person who could sweep into a party and inspire hush as guests are magnetically drawn to the fabulous woman in the gorgeous black dress tinkling the ivories in the corner, giving Oscar Petersen a run for his money.See the full content of this document
Extract
First Word
It's hard to imagine Nicola Benedetti begging her mum not to make ...
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