Diary Of A Busker ~ Day 29

Diary Of A Busker Day 29 Wednesday January 19th Winchester High Street (corner of Marks and Spencer, Time: 1:45 – 3:45pm).

I say a quick passing hello to Frank, who’s accordion-ing it up opposite WH Smiths, and set up at the same place as last night. I’ve been playing a few minutes, then a loud voice – “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO PLAY FOR ME TODAY?” A man, mid-sixties, bald-headed, hefty. “Do you know Mr. Sandman?”, I say. “NO!” “What about La Vie En Rose?” “AH YES! AND I KNOW THE FRENCH WORDS!” No sooner said, he launches into the song, and sure enough, he knows the French words. He’s belting it out, alright. He’s singing it quite well, although he’s missing out the gaps, the breathing spaces at the end of each line, and in doing so he’s making the melody one continuous line. He certainly has an individual ‘approach’ to the arrangement. I’m just getting the hang of some of the more idiosyncratic, finer points of his ‘style’ when he suddenly walks off, mid-song. Still singing at the top of his voice. It’s hilarious – loads of people are smiling. In a way, I admire someone who can do something like that and not give a damn what anyone might think.

Later on… a woman gives me a pound and asks me if I have a dvd player, “I’ve got a dvd of a friend who died for twenty minutes and then came back to life, it’s here, you can have it – no money.”
… another woman, about 70 says “You’re very talented, how old are you, by the way?” “I’m forty-eight.” She looks at me. “You’re hair’s very grey for your age, isn’t it? How old do you think I am?” Too old to sleep with me, you cheeky old lady!

Then from afar, a familiar voice, quiet, but getting louder as it makes it’s way back towards me, it’s that man again – or ITMA, as they used to say in the war. This time he’s singing to the Spanish piece I’m doing. “You’ve got a good voice, haven’t you?” I say. “Well, when my benefit didn’t come through, I was singing outside Neros. You know, singing for my breakfast. I got SEVEN POUNDS in FIFTEEN MINUTES!” “That’s good.” I said. “YES! Then I stood outside later and I was singing for my lunch and I got some money for my lunch, in one of the Nero coffee cups, you know. Then, later on, I was, what do you call it – singing for my supper! HA! HA! ‘Cause I’m not going to beg, you know.” I asked his name – Maurice. I bumped into him the next day in Sainsburys, singing his way around there.

Earnings: £19.00