Rookie pianist strives for recognition...

Look, I know, I've banged on about piano-playing in a couple of posts. I would be disingenuous if I didn't confess that I am like a woman possessed. It's just a shame, really that I'm not possessed by the spirit of Moura Lympany. Would be better for all around me. And for one in particular. In lieu of which, I am truly giving it some practice. As I have already stated, alcohol does not improve things. It does help, I understand, to anaesthetise the audience.
This evening, for example, I asked if I could give the Don Giovanni a run through . (Impressed? Yes, so am I!) Dearest had come home to watch the evening tennis. I gave it my best shot (twice). It had a few slight hesitations, a couple of cock-ups, a few reversals and moments where I had to take a bit of a run at it. You know the kind of thing.. But such an improvement from a week ago. I waited for some sort of recognition. And I waited. I went into the living room and waived. No response. Dearest was watching the tennis in a catatonic trance.
"Well, how was that?"
"Brilliant game..."
Tennis obviously also dulls the senses, it would seem.

Last week my piano teacher left behind a Book of the Shows. I thumbed through and decided that I would tackle, "Maybe this time.." I picked it out on the right hand. Emboldened, and with an image of Lisa Minella in my head and suffering from the sort of summer cold where snot explodes like an oyster from one's left nostril, I sang, raspingly, it has to be admitted, "Maybe this time, I'll be lucky/Maybe this time, he'll stay..."
"Jeesus! Are you alright, Lesley?" A voice from the bathroom. Such concern, I was touched.
Dear Reader, I was lucky. He stayed.
Until it was safe to come out. Win some. Lose some. Love all .

If you can read music, then you will see this is very elementary...but if you can't, then you can be wowed like me!