So I did this thing yesterday, I had a tune in my head, just ten notes or so, and for the first time in my life, I automatically went to my piano to try to work out what they were. Now, I failed, and now, I have not one thin clue how I thought I could do this since at present “Chopsticks” is beyond my grasp, but I tried. And most significantly to me, I went to the piano as automatically as I might to a keyboard to write on.

I concluded, briefly, that I am now a musician. I concluded, even more briefly, that I am a muso.

But clearly only a small one, so therefore a-muso-bouche.

Now, I thought of that phrase and I unquestionably hope to make you smile with it, but if it worked then I see that as a good line. If the gag didn’t amuse you, then I see it as a line I might work on. I promise you that I do not see it either way as being part of me, as your reaction being praise or criticism of me. The writing is the thing, the work is the thing, it isn’t me.

Yet two different people this week told me that I need praise and that shocked me. It upset me, actually, and I can’t really explain why since I don’t suppose there’s anyone who doesn’t like being praised. Need, though. Whyever this punched me, it was on that word. And two different people. Two independent sources, I can’t dismiss that.

I vow to you, as actually I vowed to them, that if you praise me, I do not believe you. I won’t call you a liar, I’ll just think you’re being nice. Whatever I do, I assume it’s either bad or it’s good enough, move on. I’ve had some incredible comments from people, even this week, but while I hope I take the compliments graciously, I recognise that I just know very kind people and I enjoy that I know them.

Need, though. Shook me. Felt like they don’t know me. Or maybe that I don’t.