An Early Start

I am awake at an untimely hour to catch a train to the Midlands for a finance meeting. The early start is compounded by the first starlings of the morning, seemingly determined to ensure that I am awake a good hour before the 5am alarm. I make a mental note to wear ear plugs the next time I go to sleep with the bedroom window open.

I get up, stretch, brush my teeth, shower and shave – such is the morning routine. I dress, scramble some eggs and put the kettle on to make coffee. I look out of the window as it starts to boil. The day is clear and I remind myself to try to wake at this hour more frequently during the summer months – “maybe go for a run.”

Leaving my flat in plenty of time – a rarity in itself, I walk the short journey to the tube station and in what seems like a brief skim through a Metro later, I arrive at Kings Cross and walk through to St Pancras International and collect my tickets from the pre booking machine.

After buying a coffee and a bacon roll, I note the platform on the departures board and make my way in that direction. Walking along the concourse with hands full and laptop bag hanging over my shoulder I check my watch and see that I have 10 minutes to spare. I start to think about the day ahead - of meetings and spreadsheets and finance managers demanding this and that.

I head towards the escalator that leads to the upper platforms. However, the closer I get, the more my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone playing a piece of classical music on a piano. It’s an upright, positioned behind one of the columns and is one of an assorted number of pianos that have found themselves dotted around mainline train stations throughout Central London. The aim, being to encourage members of the public to play them at will. I’ve seen a few being played in the past, although usually by a teenager or two, giving a rendition of Chop Sticks. This is something else though.

I’ve heard this piece of music before – it’s by Chopin I think, and I’m wondering who the pianist is. I walk past the column and see a man who looks to be in his mid to late thirties. He has a short beard and long dark hair, which is tied back. He looks like he might be Italian or Spanish. My attention is drawn to his hands, which are dirty, likewise his nails, which are full of grime. I look at his face, side on, and I see that this is also dirty. I wonder if he might be homeless, which only makes me more curious about his piano playing

It sounds like he’s note perfect and I notice that he seems to be looking straight ahead. On closer inspection though, I see that his eyes are in fact closed. The music is gentle and beguiling in a way that cuts through the colourless routine of the morning rush hour. Not that anyone else is watching of course. Commuters go about their business and filter around me as they walk hurriedly to their trains. I sip my coffee and watch and listen. Previous thoughts of the days finance meetings now seem insignificant and bland.

An announcement over the tannoy reminds me of my impending train departure. With a heavy heart, I look at my watch and realise that I have 5 minutes to catch it if I’m not going to be late. I move closer to the piano as the piece he is playing nears its end. He softly plays the last notes and draws the piece to a close.“That was beautiful” I say. He opens his eyes, nods and smiles, “Thank you”.

A little while later and I am sitting on the train. I look out at the countryside flying past the window and reflect wistfully as the sound of the piano playing over and over in my mind. I wonder about the guy who played so beautifully - whether he’s actually homeless, where he learned to play like he did and what’s going through his mind as he closes his eyes and effortlessly, glides his fingers across the eightly eight keys on front of him.

I want to talk to someone about it – to describe what I’ve seen and the sense of wonderment I’ve felt at being briefly transported from a routine of commuter drudgery. But of course there’s no one. And so I do something that I haven’t done for far too long. I take out my laptop and I begin to type.