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 "Oh, but of course there is more, with that horrible, sad, and pathetic train wreck of a sister, there of course is always going to be more, and to think it all got started because my disgusting father couldn't keep his willy zipped up inside his pants, nor keep his hands off of her.  Incest is the gift that goes on giving.  So, anyway, just after my father's death, she comes out and goes public in a bloody magazine article about the horrible things he did to her.  Some loathsome wag of a young journalist somehow cottoned on that the rising star in classical piano, Carol Barlow-Mead, had some rather dark family secrets that might create some entertainment value for all those poor blighters riding the tube every morning to their miserable little jobs.  Tina left absolutely nothing to the imagination.  I cracked under the stress, fell into a near suicidal depression, and then suddenly too my marriage was over."

"All this was going on during your performance at the Royal Albert?" I ask.

"No, that was later, much later.  Graham and I ceased to live together as man and wife, but the actual divorce only occurred ten years ago during that time you saw me perform.  Still, I didn't know what to do.  I couldn't sue my own sister, even if I already hated her.  And I was simply too paralyzed by depression and indecision to do anything, really, so I just simply carried on playing and performing and trying to raise both my rather disappointing daughters.  Which was no walk in the park by the way.  It turned out that the younger, Alisa, had been mildly impacted by fetal alcohol syndrome, fortunately it wasn't really serious, but she has always been a bit of a handful.  She's the one who's turned into a dreadful born-again vegan.  I trace it all to that second glass of sherry I drank with my sister that day when she told me her awful secret, and I was just newly pregnant with Alisa..."