Diary Of A Busker Day 43 Thursday February 17th Winchester High Street 1. corner of Marks And Spencer: Time: 1:40-4:20pm, 2. opposite WH Smiths, Time: 4:45-5:47pm.
I’m down here at the noisy end of town again, because there are some young strummers at my usual spots up the road. Like yesterday, the whistling flower seller helps me with The Third Man, La Vie En Rose, Mr. Sandman, Music To Watch Girls By and many, many more…
A lady comes up who I met about 6 years ago when I posed for a life drawing class at the adult learning centre – adorned with clothes and 12-string guitar. I saw an add in the paper – £10 for an hours’ ‘work’, sitting on a small platform, occasionally playing, while a few people scetched me. Now, six years down the road they still need models and it’s still £10 an hour…and it’s STILL Val who’s running it. I’ve now got her number and I’m going to ring up…soon. It’s a guaranteed £10 and a damn sight warmer than sitting around here.
Later on, a very entertaining lady speaks to me. She moans about having to get a bus or a taxi to her home in Twyford since her doctor banned her from driving after she had two minor strokes. “So I threw a brick through his window. I made sure there were no children about first, though.” That was thoughtful, I said. Could she take to cycling perhaps? She thinks it’s not a bad idea, but “I don’t know. I’m seventy-three, I don’t want to be bumped off into a hedge.” I can understand. I cycled a few times from Winchester to various places a few miles away and could not relax. There was always a car coming up at 70 miles an hour, or, if not a car, the sound of one from a distance. I timed it once – there was not a minute when there wasn’t a car or truck, or the sound of one practically on top of me. “..and these trucks go really fast,” I said. “Well, some of my pupils used to stop and give me a lift, if they ever saw me. They were all very good drivers. Alot of them became truck drivers.” “You used to hitch-hike?” “Oh yes, and they all stopped – ‘You were the best teacher I ever had’, they all used to say to me.” “You were a teacher?” “Oh yes, taught the rough, toughs and scruffs AND I’ve had six books published and one was translated into Spanish!” Her name was Mabel, ex-teacher, writer and a very entertaining character. I only realised afterwards that this was the very same lady who I met a few days ago and who, when I told her my age, said I looked alot older.
After a long time here, I decide to pack up but can’t decide if I should go home or do a short session opposite WH Smiths – if it’s free, that is. I go to the toilets to wash and warm my hands up and then go to the cathedral grounds to count my fortune. I decide to do a short set… It turned out to be a good decision, as I made about £15 in an hour. Of course the minute I start to play, the pasty shop lady comes out to dump her bucket of sludge. I should know this by now – the daily ritual of the sludge-dumpimg…
Earnings: £41.47p.
An interesting observation made by Mabel: Men drivers are always much more kind and considerate than women drivers.