An Afternoon Party, Etc.

Today we had lots of visitors, partly in honour of my uncle M.'s visit from Kevelaer (he arrived yesterday evening), and partly in honour of the visit of two friends of my parents. So there was a great spread prepared by Mama: lasagne, salad, baguette, cheese, red wine, and strawberries. And then the guests arrived, eight in all. I'm still painfully shy, so I stayed at my laptop much of the time, but it's been worse. As for the weather, it was sunny and warm. Just before everything began, J. and I had gone to the Kleistpark to play badminton, and the temperatures were bearable.

As for music, Papa and I played bits of Mozart sonatas, T. and I played two movements of a Marcello sonata for flute and piano as well as piano duets ("melodious exercises") by Diabelli, and then Papa and I played variations for cello and piano by Beethoven as well as Mendelssohn's Song Without Words for cello and piano in D major (Op. 109). I think back regretfully to the days when Tante Nora would play chamber music with Papa (and Uncle Pu), because she was evidently much better and made the music pleasant to listen to. On the other hand, no matter how good and atmospheric house music is, I think that it always demands patience and good-humour on the part of the audience, and when I'm not involved in creating it I tend to prefer hearing it at a distance and being able to wander off elsewhere.

The piano has been going fairly badly in general. Technically it's all right, and I've been exploring more music (late Beethoven sonatas), but the playing itself usually sounds insincere and disagreeable to me. It makes me think that I must have a rather awful soul. Hopefully it's only a phase, since it's not nice being presented with a sort of musical portrait-of-Dorian-Grey whenever I sit down at the piano. It's not deserved either, except insofar as I've been irritable and self-absorbed and lazy lately.

As for online books, I am now roaming among authors whose names begin with "S" on Project Gutenberg. I've finished two indifferent cowboy novels, skimmed through the first article of the Spectator (sic transit the conscientious attempt to expand my mind), and am now making my way through the saccharine and flowery pages of The Old Homestead. But yesterday evening I read in Pride and Prejudice (paper version) again. Not only have I read the book too often, I've also seen the films too often, because I can hardly read a line without picturing the corresponding scene in the 1995 BBC version. But it's enjoyable anyway.

As for university, T. and I handed in our applications the day before yesterday. T. is applying for a "combination bachelor" for the third year in English Philology and the first year in Information Technology, and I am applying for a bachelor for the third year in English Philology and the third year in History. Reason advises me that I will most likely not be accepted this year, but I think I'm expecting that I will anyway. How T. feels about it I don't know.