I had had no dinner today; it was nine o'clock and so I went for a snack at Nikolayevsky station. Again this brought back memories of Max: he loved coming here, for any reason or no reason. And how often we had been here together, leaving for the Crimea, or one of us meeting or seeing off the other, or simply coming to watch the departure of some express or other.

Lost in sombre thoughts I went to see Myaskovsky, having promised to play his Symphony through four-hands to Aslanov. Saminsky and Shaposhnikov were there as well, everyone was talking about music and were immersed in the subject. I suddenly felt how lovely it was to plange into this world and forget all the sadness outside. It worked and I became quite cheerful again. We played Myaskovsky's Symphony, and then I played Dreams, and then to conclude, the Scherzo for Four Bassoons, which went down extremely well. Aslanov said he would programme it next summer. My sunny mood persisted even when I left Myaskovsky's to go home.