// David Mitchell //

 "How vulgar, this hankering after immortality, how vain, how false.  Composers are merely scribblers of cave paintings.  One writes music because winter is eternal and because if one didn't, the wolves and blizzards would be at one's throats all the sooner".

David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas. 

My old, beat up, squeaky-pedalled, in-dire-need-of-a-tune, piano.  It's a love/hate thing.