In the evening I went to Koussevitzky's concert. Golubovskaya told me that as she was leaving after the 'Evenings of Contemporary Music' concert, she overheard the following conversation: 'Prokofiev? Very nice young man,' and then, tenderly, 'Terribly cheeky, though!' In Golubovskaya's view, I am the only person to whom such a conjugation could possibly be applied.

I listened to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring with heightened attention. Whatever else it is, this work is full of life and all but captures the listener. I was beside myself with excitement at 'The Adoration of the Earth'. But in places it is so shatteringly loud, and in other, quieter passages such an obvious fake that one is left marvelling that so talented and inventive a musician as Stravinsky appears to have a screw loose! Some in the audience applauded fervently, but most were either bemused or looked round with triumphantly amused expressions as if to say: 'See what disgusting filth these futurists write.'