‘Piano Quintet’ began life as a deep-sea dive into nostalgia. Musical themes circle round and round like an old memory, always shifting but never developing.

Movement One is like the warped recollection of a Schubert song - its details smudged into a warm, happy mess. The piano takes a concerto role here, almost oblivious to the uncoordinated crooning of the four strings players. Movement Two takes the idea of repetition more literally. It is built from a series of short phrases that echo and decay, as though performed in a cavernous space. In Movement Three, an old folk melody itches to sing out, but can’t quite find the right rhythm. All three movements end somewhat abruptly, like the edge of a fading memory.

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I like to think that listening to ‘Piano Quintet’ is like taking a short drive down a long country lane.

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It is sunrise. Your car is humming gently: a lone traveller at this time of day. A picket fence gallops into the horizon, animated into dots and dashes. Beyond: endless variations on grey and green. Here, a herd of cows graze peacefully. There, a row of majestic oaks stand strong and tall. Are they the same oaks you saw earlier? Is it possible you are driving in circles? As the road veers leftward, the sun catches anew on the picket fence, casting an oblique shadow across your path. More cows, more oaks. But the sun is a little brighter and you can see their colours more clearly. Where were you going anyway?