from the age of four i had piano lessons with an old lady called Mrs Rhodda. to this day i imagine her sitting in a little boat on a pond trying to catch fish. all picturesque and kitsch, like a figurine. maybe i see her as a figurine because i remember that her musty sateen cranny of a flat was absolutely full of them - hard silvery white swans with their wings outstretched, hard little girls in twee pastel dresses with baskets of flowers. clowns. cherubs. amongst them the cruel little couple from her wedding cake (who, unlike her, did not age). they were everywhere, these friends of hers, serving perhaps for the family that had died or left her. she told me once that some of them were made of sugar. this blew my mind. i have distinct memories of sidling up to some of the little fellows, that clustered on windowledges and mantelpieces all around the place, and having a sly lick when she wasn't looking. i don't think i ever discovered a sugar one.