Tonight I said farewell to the piano that has given me so much pleasure (and, on occasion, assured my sanity) over the past few years. It's reassuring to know that it's going to be in good hands, but I can't help but feel bereft: it will be many months before I can once more indulge in Cole Porter, Chopin and Couperin in the privacy of my own home.
(That's Scarlatti on the music desk: The Cat Fugue.)