I grew up deep in the Kentish countryside, surrounded by fields, with very little by way of entertainment. As a child I used to sit at our out-of-tune piano for hours noodling, composing in my head.

After the shock of watching my work disappear and becoming a (home school) teacher to my kids overnight, I am trying to see a way forward for my future and that of my industry. I am thinking about ways I can stay in touch with my usual collaborators and even find new ones. Isolation means I have to adapt and develop new ways of working.

As the audience settle, a lady in a blue dress unfurls long, white sheets of paper which hang from the ceiling. We catch glimpses of a tall creature trotting noiselessly to and fro between the paper strips to the strains of Eastern European folk music. The woman places some red peppers into a pot to cook as she addresses us for the first time. Her unusual jokes are met with peals of laughter reminding me of word salad, the non sequiturs that you sometimes hear when talking to people living with dementia.