Diary Of A Busker Day 2549 Friday May 23rd 2025 Winchester.
A full house; Dean’s at the top spot, some bloke with a keyboard in The Square, Meeta at the crossroads and there’s even a stall in the newly-revisited corner of M&S spot. There’s only one spot and it’s down the arse-end. It starts off promising, with 15p during the first minute but then nothing for ages. There’s a woman with a walking frame walking really slowly, trying to negotiate a traffic cone in the middle of the road. She moves it from her path but wait, she’s picking it up again and moving it forward by an inch or two, then moves herself forward a couple of steps – a couple of r-e-a-l-l-y- S-L-O-W…steps, then the cone forward by a few more inches. I swear it takes her twenty minutes to get from me to the bend at M&S. What the fuck does she want a traffic cone for. Oh well, it gave me something to occupy my mind. I did Dixie McGuire again – I’d done it at home a bit before I left – and it was much better than the other day but still a bit ropey.
I did an hour and a half and collected £6.22 for my trouble. Nice afternoon, plenty of peoploids about. I thought, fuck this for a game of checkers, I’m off. Now, whether to see if anywhere’s now free or go home…the bloke’s packing up in The Square but there’s not much happening there…Dean’s packing up as well. I don’t know…I’m not in the mood. Don Lavelle’s up near Jewry Street – ‘You alright, Don?’
‘Yeah, are you settin’ up?’
‘No, probably not. I’ve been down the bottom and got six quid for an hour and a half.’
‘ Six quid? That’s not even enough to buy some grease for your bike.’
‘No, you’re probably right…Is that a commission?’ (he’s working on another view, looking down towards The Buttercross, with the big Lloyds clock hanging over the high street).
‘Oh yeah, I’m workin’ on eight at the moment.’
‘Really/ Eight? Oh well, money, isn’t it?’
‘Well, it’s not as much as you think it is.’
‘No?…well, I have no idea.’
‘800 without the frame. Takes me eight or nine days to do one of these.’
‘Wow.’
‘Well, I have to come out and do it. It’s good for me, you know. I was talking to a young guitarist the other day and ‘ee was sayin’, I could stay home and practise but if I come out here, I might make a quid or two, you know. You in tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, I reckon.’
‘It’ll be the Hat Fair soon, won’t it?’
‘Well, not yet, that’s July or August but you won’t find me at that. Bloody Hat Fair.’