Diary Of A Busker Day 361 Friday May 3rd 2013 Winchester High Street 1. Opposite Oxfam. Time: 12:43-1:25pm 2. Opposite Vodafone. Time: 1:35-2:25pm
Sometimes it’s just a complete waste of time, which is a shame as life’s too short, etc.. I set up for my first spot and see Eddie and an old lady on the bench on the other side of the road. Eddie’s trying to talk to me with all the buses roaring by between us, and there seem to be loads of them today; maybe they double-up on Fridays. Whatever the reason, it’s annoying and after forty-five minutes I’ve had enough, and anyway, no one’s giving anything. The high-point arrives at the half-hour mark when I receive a Cohiba cigar, dropped in the bucket by the councillor. In fact just before that, I was going to jack it in then that happened and I thought it might be a sign that things were looking up so I carried on a bit longer, but it didn’t get any better so I started packing up. As I was doing that, Eddie came over and asked how I’d done so I told him – I’d made 78p. Just then, the old lady comes over and presses a 10p coin in my hand, so that’s 88 pence. I left in disgust because there are so many people about. I forgot, there was one slightly amusing moment. An old guy walked past – ‘I’ve just flown back from New Zealand with heart trouble,’ he says, then waits for me to respond…so I say ‘You look alright to me,’ and he says ‘I know, that’s the trouble,’ and walks off.
Ten minutes later, I’m up at Vodafone and hoping it’s going to go better. No way. I’m there for fifty minutes and made barely £4. In fact, in the end I was forced to stop by forces beyond my control. At 2:20 there’s a commotion up the road to my left, coming down from The Buttercross and it’s getting louder. I have to stop and investigate…it’s some theatrical group, about ten people, some playing instruments; there’s a saxophone, guitar, some people crouching down and walking really slow. When they get to me, they stop right in front, form a circle and carry on their act, which of course really annoys me. One of them, a woman, sees me and voices ‘one minute’ and holds her forefinger up. I should have done the same but with a different finger. Anyway, I think, OK, one minute…FOUR minutes later, they’re still here. One of the others – a very tall bloke – must have seen my (rapidly escalating) frustration and comes over – ‘Sorry…uh, we’ve got permission from the police to do this.’ I interrupt – ‘How long is this going to be?’ ‘Only about ten more minutes, then we’ll be gone.’ ‘Ten minutes? Who are you, what is this?’ He then told me the name of whatever it is they were but in my blind rage, which I have to say I did well to contain because I am civilised, I instantly forgot what he said because that’s what happens; my brain wasn’t retaining information, that’s how angry I was. Anyway, I just thought – sod it, I’m not sitting here while they’re doing all this silliness; there’s a bloke wailing some Hebrew chant or prayer or something – I’m packing up! So I do that, and storm off (I really should have been an ac-TOR).
At The Buttercross, I have a chat with Demelza who I passed on the way down a couple of hours ago. She says the theatrical lot were up here earlier. I asked how she got on today. She says the morning was fine; a lot better than now, and she says I can play for a bit, before she starts her next set. I thank her but I’ve had enough and anyway I’ve got a guitar lesson at 4 o’clock.
I almost forgot; about the only nice moment (apart from the gift of an exceptionally fine quality Cuban) was during the second set. A mother came up with her five year old daughter and said ‘We had to find you, she said “Oh mummy, where’s that beautiful music coming from?”‘ And what was that “beautiful music” worth in monetary terms? A shiny 5p coin.
Earnings: £4.58 (+ 4 US dimes – thanks, yanks)