I found a lunch time concert in Brighton I thought my mum might like. It was in the most unlikely venue of a church with all the statues swathed in purple covers for Easter. Amongst the solemn haloed setting sat two oiled and suited men sat at the shiniest grand piano I’ve ever seen. They began their tidal lilting, and the scene was set. However, the unlikely church was on one of the busiest commercial streets in central Brighton; consequently the continued roaring of the buses just outside the window was peppered with the screeching gulls of central Brighton. It struck me as the perfect allegory for the creative person’s life lived on a parallel with mundane existence.