Mein Lieb
Stier has persuaded me to join his little ensemble. We are a strange number: only one violin, a cello (of course), my battered little Hohner, Poldi's silly fife (the one he keeps in his sleeve), and, unglaublich!, two viola. Despite this we played before dinner two nights ago and I think even the poms were glad of it. I am not sure to be pleased or sad that such disorganised cacophany is enough to make us all smile. How I long for a piano and Schwanengesang! My fingers play it on the benchtop at breakfast and I imagine that we are in Zimmerman's café drinking coffee; the patrons have gone and he is sweeping and you managing to fall asleep even though the piano needs tuning. Remember that terrible fifth between middle C and G? You were so tired you didn't even wince at it.
Ich denke über dich jeden Moment an jedem Tag. It is my happy curse. Please don't worry about the road, Liebchen. Don't worry about me. No, you can worry about that fife and where I will have to stick it next time I hear Poldi murdering a waltz.
Sweet thoughts and sweet sleep, dear heart.
A