Diary Of A Busker Day 77 Friday April 8th Winchester High Street (1. opposite Clarks, Time: 1:05-3:10pm, 2. corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 3:58-5:07pm, 3. opposite WH Smiths, Time: 5:12-6:20pm.)
A day spent zigzagging around the high street, but that doesn’t mean there was alot of arduous travelling – the different busking places are only a minute’s walk, if that, apart. My first well-wisher of the day is my nice old Italian lady, Delia. We try to have a conversation but she’s got an ear infection which is giving her alot of pain on one side of her face and she can barely hear me. She’s on her way to the doctors about it. As she’s about to leave, Alfie arrives, says hello and other things but it’s so difficult to understand him. I reckon Delia and Alfie are two of the friendliest people I’ve met since I started busking.
…the money is coming in steady – if it keeps up like this for the rest of the day, I’ll be content.
I’ve got my head down and when I look up, there are two young ladies standing a few feet away, both with hands folded in front of them. I finish and they clap – a dead givaway, they must be foreign. “What is that?” one asks. Yes, definately an un-English tinge there. “It’s by Bach. J.S Bach, Johann Sebastion Bach. It’s called Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring.” “Oh, what does it mean?” Immediately I think of what Loe Kottke’s engineer said when he was recording the arrangement I play – that Bach had so many children because his organ had no stops, but I decide not to divulge this. They probably wouldn’t get it, anyway. But they might…and then they might think I’m rude. “I don’t know – it’s really old, though!” I say. They ask if I know any more Bach. I tell them I don’t, although I’m working on one called Siciliano which is quite difficult. I think these two look similar and I ask them if they are sisters. “No, we just work together. We are care workers – in Edinburgh. We are going back to Germany soon. We are on our way back.” I ask their names. They are Inga and Meret. Inga is German, Meret is Swiss. They are very friendly and they ask me if I can play any songs that they know. I can’t and they don’t know any of mine. Do I know Fleet Foxes? No. They do, though. I insist they play a song – they really like singing they say, and Inga says she plays the guitar. She borrows my capo – 6th fret and they launch into a song – Tiger Mountain Peasant Song, a Fleet Foxes number and they’re doing a version by First Aid Kit and I’m have to say that they do it very well – they sing in tune and they sing well together. I’m impressed. They sing in harmony – musically and literally. Yes, it sounds nice. When they finish, I applaud, although they seem to have been ignored by most everyone else. I say they are welcome to sing another one but they don’t want to. I ask them about busking in their home countries – do they have buskers? They ask me what “busking” means. A good question! I don’t know. “What do you call it in Germany?” I ask. “Strasmusikant – street musician.” says Inga. Oh dear. The last “a” in the word ‘strasmusikant’, is pronounced like a soft “u”. “Oh right! Oh, that sounds a bit like a swear word!” I say. “Strasmusikant?” she says it again. “You are a bad strasmusikant? You play some more for us?” I play some bits from a few songs – they don’t recognise any of them apart from The Entertainer, not even The Third Man. Then it’s time for them to go so we say goodbye and off they go – into the shoe shop opposite.
Before I pack up, an elderly couple stop and give me some money – “It’s good to hear some REAL music. Have you come from the stage?” she says. Stagecoach? I might look a bit old-fashioned but I’m not quite Dick Turpin. Perhaps she’s referring to my velvet-lapelled, dark (possibly stage?) jacket. She asks how I’ve come to be out here doing this. I give them my hard luck story. She asks me if I’m from Ireland or the West Country. I get this quite alot. “No, I lived in Canada for a long time.” “Ah, that accounts for the brogue – you’ve got one of those Carry Grant voices.” Carry Grant? I never get that! “Oh, do I? I’ll take that as a compliment!” “It was meant as one!” she laughs, as they walk off. I’ve been here two hours and it’s time for a break – to the cathedral ground and my snack of crisps and small apple. One of my regulars, Marcus, joins me. I find out he’s an artist – he has one of those big, zip up portfolio cases and he’s just sold a painting, in fact he has a few on the walls of some public buildings in this town. I say I’ve painted a few copies of Van Gogh’s paintings. “Have you sold any?” “No!”
For my second session I’m at the noisy corner. I’m not there very long as the money’s not coming in, but long enough to run into – or have run into me, someone I haven’t seen (and defintely not heard) for awhile. It’s Maurice, the ‘singing at the top of his voice wherever he goes man’. I see him coming towards me and remember his name just in time – “Hello Maurice, how are you these days?” “I’m fine, my friend! and you?” Maurice is wearing a new looking grey vest and some black shorts which are certainly not new. His vest IS new – “I got two of these for five pounds. I wanted to buy some shorts. I said to the woman “Have you got a size fifty-two?” but they only had up to a FORTY-EIGHT! I said “If I wear this and I bend over, I’ll be arrested for INDECENT EXPOSURE!” I laugh at this. “I’m going to give you some money as you remembered my name (phew!)…now, what are you going to play for me, my boy?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, he just walks off! I go into La Vie En Rose, which I believe is what I played the last time I saw him. I hear him bellowing the melody at full throttle.
Back up the road at the old favourite, opposite WH Smiths, for a final, short spot – just over an hour. After The Third Man, an old lady gives me a coin – a £2 coin, no less. “Well, thank you, thank you very much!” I say. “That’s all right” she says as she half pats, half slaps me on the cheek. It’s more of a slap than a pat, actually.
….at 6:15 there aren’t many about, apart from three druggies – two male, one female, sitting on the bench opposite me. In fact I may have unwittingly contributed to a soon-to-happen overdose. The female one comes up and asks if I have a pen. I do. “What colour is it?” It’s black – like her teeth. I give it to her. She produces a piece of paper which I can see it’s a prescription – there are some green sections, and she puts pen to paper, as it were. Oh well, if it wasn’t my pen, it would be someone elses…or would it? Time to go, I think. This has been a very good day, nay – exceptional, money-wise. In fact, monetarily, it’s been the second best day, ranking just behind the day I went up to London at the invitation of Mr. Brady. Today I took £65, including a £10 note from a regular, George – “Good luck with the interview!” he said, noting my smart jacket. Also recieved – a £5 note from a young Japanese woman. All in all, a day worth coming out for.
Earnings: £65.76p