At the entrance to Marylebone railway station is an old piano that anyone can play. Unfortunately, whoever had this sweet idea can’t be bothered to fix the broken notes. Even so, about once a fortnight, on my way back from visiting my mother in Gerrards Cross, I put down my shopping bag and bash out Chopin’s Waltz in C-sharp minor.

Why I’m glad my piano teacher spent more time chatting than teaching
Without Mrs Oates I might have become a better pianist - but I'm pleased I didn't

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