Diary Of A Busker Day 2564 Wednesday June 18th 2025 Southampton.
Back to the big city bright and early…this time without a train drama. There’s no one else playing so I set up opposite the mall entrance, thankfully in the shade because it’s bloody hot these days. Speaking of which, a few minutes after Here Comes The Sun, a man comes up…
‘Was that you playin’ Here Comes The Sun? (he starts singing it)…’
‘Yeah, that’s me.’
‘Yeah, I was up there an’ I could hear you – “here comes the sun”, yeah. Gibson, they’re good guitars, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they are, but this one’s a Stratocaster and it’s fine.’
‘Yeah, if you like it, that’s great – “here comes the sun, here comes the sun”, yeah, I could hear you up there an’ I’m thinking, is that Here Comes The Sun?’
‘You’re not wrong there.’
‘Yeah, well…best o’ luck to ya.’ and off he goes.
While I’m on the subject of Beatles, a young woman walks by with a badge that has “I Love Paul” on it and I’m wondering if it means Paul McCartney – it just so happens to be his 83rd birthday today. But there’s no photo or any picture on it, just I Love Paul. I just think it’s a weird thing to have! Anyway, seizing an opportunistic moment, I launch into Here, There And Everywhere…but there’s no response. Maybe it’s another Paul she loves. Paul Hollywood? I don’t know any other famous Pauls. Or maybe it’s her boyfriend. If I see her again, I’ll bloody well ask her.
A man about my age pulls up on a bike and says ‘You know, you should play at a couple of places here. There’s two pubs on Bugle Street, The Titanic and Duke Of Wellington. You know that guy who’s got the skeleton drummer?’
‘Yeah, Rob Berry. I know him.’
‘Yeah, him and there’s The Two Henrys, father and son.’
‘Yeah, I know them as well, they do loads of Beatles, they all play in Winchester. I know everyone!’
‘Yeah well I got them into those places and you’d be perfect there. Just go in and say Rob from New York sent you, and they’ll tell you to fuck off, haha! No really, you should go and see if you can play. Bugle Street, you know the area?’
‘Well, I know this bit.’
‘Right, you go down here, keep going then you take a right turn down Castle Lane or Castle Street or something, then you get to Bugle Street and the pubs are almost next to each other. Like I said, go there and say Jeff from New York sent you.’
So I thanked him, said I would have a look for the pubs after I finished. He then turned on a speaker on a small cylinder on the back of his bike which started blaring out music, then went off.
Just before the two hour mark, that bloke who I’ve met a couple of times turned up. He’s the one who aims his phone at me horizontally, and takes photos of his money – his five and ten pound notes. The first time I met him he bought some CDs and the second time he bought some for a friend. So this time, he does the usual; gets his phone out and does the horizontal thing but he appears to be filming his shopping bag he’s laid out on the ground. Whenever the wind blows it up a bit, he flattens it down and carries on filming. He spends a few minutes doing this then gets his wallet out and films a fiver, then a twenty pound note, after which he very carefully puts them back in his wallet and continues with the shopping bag.
Just as I’m about to finish, he sits down cross-legged with his head down and I’m thinking “I can’t pack up now, he’s obviously listening to me” so I decide to carry on a bit longer. He doesn’t look at me or say anything, just sits there. After fifteen minutes I decide to stop and pack up – I don’t want to play any more as I’ve got to play an hour later on in Winchester at the annual Children’s Society do. After I pack up, I ask him if he’s alright…
‘Yeah’ he says and he gets his wallet out, pulls out the twenty and five pound notes and extends his hand towards me.
‘You want to give me that? That’s a lot of money?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you want some CDs? You can have some – I know you bought some for your friend last time.’
‘No. No CDs.’
‘Are you sure? You can have some!’
‘No.’
‘That’s twenty five pounds, that’s a lot of money. Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right well, if you’re sure…thank you!’ And that was that. I don’t know…he’s definitely a bit “special” but if he really wanted me to have the dosh, so be it! Who knows, I mean he might just really enjoy the playing. I mean, every time I see him, he stops to listen. Well, to listen while he does his weird filming his belongings bit. I don’t know, people are strange…Jim!
Anyway, I went into the toilets in the mall then back out and down the road to find the pubs, which didn’t take long but it was a really hot and I could have done without trudging around with the guitar and case because I was sweating like a fucking pig by the time I got to The Titanic. There were only a couple of people inside but the barmaid was friendly and wrote down the email address of the people I should contact – they have music on for two hours on a Friday. I thought about having a drink (presumably they’re reluctant about serving ice!) but decided to find the other pub, which was not more than a minute and a half down the road. There were a few more in that one, The Duke Of Wellington, most of whom had just come from an Indian wedding, or they’d been there for awhile as they were all pretty well sloshed. I had to wait a few minutes while the bar staff served some drinks then asked about who to contact – amazingly no one, not here or at The Titanic, told me to fuck off when I mentioned “Jeff from New York.”
Later on, at the Winchester do in the grounds of Castle, one of the guests who came up to me (I was playing under the shade of a big tree) was none other than the instigator of the infamous “Priestgate” affair of a few years ago, bully boy Roland Riem, now the interim Dean of Winchester Cathedral, after the departure of Dean Catherine Ogle. He remembered my name (as well he might) and was very friendly to me, as well he fucking should be.