A small but attentive audience comes to the evening concert of Bartók Rumanian Dances, Mozart piano concerto (with string quartet instead of orchestra) and Schubert string quintet.... The concert is a success, but physical tiredness begins to show and makes the edges ragged, especially in the Schubert. My hands are so cold that semiquaver passages almost don't work in the Mozart, and a motherly listener tells me afterwards that if I don't get a warmer concert outfit I will be ill by the end of the week. The Schubert has all its spirit from the last performance, but the ensemble is much more scrappy and the sound curiously unfocused, perhaps just because of the new acoustic. In the park, we are more of less playing outdoors, and are sometimes competing with all kinds of park noises immediately around us. The five players are very divided in their opinion of how the Schubert went; Krysia says she didn't enjoy it very much, while Leo was thrilled by it, and the others agree that basically the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. Several people comment privately that when they are tired they are more than usually sensitive to each other's annoying mannerisms in performance, and that when they look up and see certain facial expressions of leering intensity, or buccaneering swagger, or 'ham' emotion, they are distracted to the point of hostility. It is a real problem; we have to open ourselves to one another to open the telepathic channels, but when we are open we risk overloading our nerves with the strong flavours of each other's concentration. Krysia says she doesn't wish to be withheld while playing, and making her face open to the feelings wrought in her by the music, she sometimes sees other players looking at her with a personal responsiveness which makes it clear they didn't realise the distinction between musical intensity, and personal intensity directed at them alone. << less