Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

When I was in my late teens I embarked on course of self-improvement. As well as reading ‘proper’ books I began to take an interest in classical music. Growing up on a council estate, this was something completely alien to my parents and my friends so I had to look elsewhere for edification.

I discovered a monthly music magazine that included a recording of a particular piece of music on a 10” vinyl disc with notes that explained the music, background to the composer and so on. My first issue contained Beethoven’s 6th symphony (The Pastoral). Having grown up wanting to be an Everly Brother, this was a revelation. I got it straightaway.

The next issue featured Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture. Along with the disc was an opportunity to buy a bust of the composer by an unknown Polish artist (and sadly, still unknown as far as I’m concerned) for the sum of £4.19s.6d.

Although the records and magazines are long gone, I still have the bust. It’s probably worthless, but I love it - for me it captures the essence of this complicated man. And it’s a reminder of the innocence and often lost pleasure of personal discovery.