Diary Of A Busker Day 35 Monday January 31st Winchester High Street (opposite Clinton Cards, Time: 2:25 – 4:25pm).
Spent ten minutes deciding where I should set up – opposite Smiths or further down. Which place was warmer? Not much in it, so I go back to the usual place, opposite Smiths. I set my guitar and bag down, then hear a noise. I turn and see the small drum beggar, who I’ve had dealings with recently. He’s sitting down in front of a shop, I didn’t even know he was there. “Go down the other end”, he barks. “You’re not busking”, I say. He’s not, as he’s not a musician. He hasn’t even got his litttle drum he hits in his random fashion. But wait, he’s versatile and produces a harmonica from his coat pocket. He feebly blows into it and out comes one note. Not a tune. A note. However, in the eyes of the law, he is now a busker, and therefore entitled to stay where he is. It’s me that has to move. Remembering him shouting to me the other day, I say “By the way, I don’t respond to people shouting at me from a distance.” “I wasn’t shouting” he says. “You were a few days ago.” I left and set up further down. Nothing to note, apart from playing The James Bond Theme several times in memory of John Barry who died yesterday. A woman got off her bike and came over to give me some money. “That’s very fitting” she remarked, as she acknowledged my touching, personal tribute.
Earnings: £15.72p.