Concerti-crazed.

For three straight days, the Academy pianists erupted with intense adrenaline and determination of steel. Each with 20 minute slots, we performed our respective concerto to a panel of adjudicators and a public audience for our examination. How interesting that this experience seemed to bring us together in what is usually a highly competitive environment.

To my relief, my performance went well. To my horror, I discovered later that amidst the audience sat one of the most compelling musicians of our time: Fou Ts'ong. And his recording of the concerto I performed sits on my bookshelf in its Place of Honor. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Oh well.

Off to Berlin!

Sleepless in London.

I now know what it feels like to be an insomniac. I have too much on my mind these days.

For all my thoughts, I can report of one useful conclusion, which is that I will never marry a professional musician. It is too difficult for musicians to encounter something real. And life is too real.

The other useful conclusion is that I like plum tortes better than cherry tortes because they're less sweet.

Off to sleep, hopefully.

Photos: Music, Food, Friends.

Afternoon tea at the Orangery in Kensington Palace. Makiko, Japanese pianist, and I.

The Orangery.

Marc-André Hamelin at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. He played the Beethoven Op.109, 110, and Schubert's last sonata, which I particularly admired.

Borough Market: a bustling food market selling everything from organic meats, cheese and produce, to fresh breads, olives, fois gras and truffle paté, oysters on the shell, wine. Sampling is encouraged, while the sellers educate you on their products. And Manmouth Coffee Co. -- to die for!

My former professor came to the UK for some concerts. Here we are at Carluccio's, a yummy Italian restaurant in St. Christopher's Place. I had the fegato and panna cotta with candied orange for desert.

The Torture of a Pianist.

I share a flat with two other musicians who also study at the Academy. One plays french horn and the other is a trombone player. Nevermind the fact that brass musicians are generally on the dorky side; what is most disturbing is that my bedroom is situated in the middle between their bedrooms, and they practise in the flat.

On my left is the horn; on my right is the trombone.

My flatmate's boyfriend is visiting from NYC. He is also a musician and of course, he plays the french horn. And of course, he practises in the flat as well.

Currently, all three are simultaneously practising scales and arpeggios in random keys whilst I am sitting in my room going mad. MAD!