striking inland by katharine eastman

I think this one is rather likeable. The random-but-not-really-random piano played with stately tender fingers never goes wrong - if I was so-minded I could make albums like this every day forever and ever and get famous and adored and rich and, um, whatever comes next. But I am restless and contrary and any stranger who stares across the room at me usually gets a bit of a scowl in return - I wish I wasn't like this. I never knew I was a genius on the piano until I learnt that all you have to do is avoid the black notes and avoid pressing two keys that are next to each other. After that you're pretty much Chopin. Except Chopin never made a piece of music as nice as this thing this morning.

And oh god, the tyranny of "choice". I would be so much happier today if I only had one possibility. But I have two - two choices - both rather lovely. I can go to Turner Sims and meet a few nice people and watch the free lunchtime concert - a woman singing experimental songs while a man plays the piano possibly almost as well as me. Or I can walk in the other direction and have coffee with some other nice people and then (the best thing of all) go on on my own and sit in a cinema on my own and watch a new Italian film all on my own while eating free biscuits all alone - and I think it's that word "alone" that has decided me.

recorded this morning, photo looking inland half a mile from the south coast last week