Diary Of A Busker Day 54 Saturday March 5th Winchester High Street (opposite Whittard, Time: 3:55-6:30pm).
As it was a Saturday, I came into town expecting to see loads of buskers but counted only two. Well, only one real busker, if you discount the small drum-hitting tramp, again displaying his musical versatility by blowing one note on the harmonica. He was at his favourite spot – MY favourite spot, adopting his usual casual performance stance – half lying down/propped up against the wall. Down the other end of the street, a gaggle(?) of string/brass players, so I set up halfway down – opposite Whittard the chocolatiers, the shop that’s next to Clinton Cards. I’m still struggling with the middle break of Yellow Bird but it’s getting better, slowly. I’m trying to discipline myself into a format: To practise something ’till it’s 95% there, by which time I’ll have done it enough at home and will be becoming bored with it – to prevent that, it has to be brought out here – that’ll sort out a couple of more percents and the remaining 1 or 2% will never be achieved! I play Yellow Bird for about ten minutes, going back to the verses and break in any order.
The day turns out to be one of coincidences. During my elongated Yellow Bird, a woman comes up, plonks a coin in the hat and tells me she actually knew the man who wrote the song while she lived in Jamaica. Then, a bit later, a man (a regular hat contributer) walks by as I’m finishing The James Bond Theme and says “That’s really strange, I was thinking about that music about ten minutes ago in Sainsburys’ and now you’ve just played it!” I agree – it is strange and it’s not something I play alot. Well, no more than once a day.
Other well-wishers are two teenage boys who have a request – “We were wondering, can you play your signature tune for us?” Unlike the man from a few days ago, these two are obviously familiar with my reputation/repertoire. I know what they want – The Third Man, and they get it, even though I played it five minutes ago!
Later…a man asks “Can you play The Living Years by Mike and…what are they called?” “The Mechanics.” I apologise for it not being part of my current concert program. Anything else? “Yes, Let It Be by Paul McCartney?” “No, I’m sorry, I don’t play any Beatles stuff.” A woman with her budding musician son – “He’s been learning the piano.” I ask if he’s learnt any Chopin yet. “Oh no, but we’ve heard some great people – Alfred Brendl, he played the Broadwood piano at Hatchlands. He had all his fingers covered with plasters because of all the practising…(I bet HE hasn’t got Focal Dystonia)… That was a few years ago when he had his seventieth birthday celebrations.” I’m very interested in this. I remember when it was discovered, in 2007, that the Broadwood grand piano – part of the Cobbe Collection was the very same piano played by Chopin in London in 1848 at a concert attended by a very young Queen Victoria. I ask the woman if, like me, she’s a member of The Chopin Society – she says she isn’t…and the way things are going, neither will I be – I can’t afford to renew my membership at the end of the month.
Just before I pack up, a lady appears from behind me and hands me a book. It looks brand new. “Here, you might want to read this – it’s free, you read it and give it to someone else.” Which I suppose you could do with any book, but this one has a serial number at the back. What you do is, after you read the book, you go on a website, log in the number then give the book to someone else. That way, they can track the books’ journey. I’ve read a bit of it already. It’s called Stuart – A Life Backwards. It’s about a down and out man. It’s a biography but written backwards, so it starts when he’s an adult and works in reverse to when he’s a child. I’ve read up to the bit about the so-called Cambridge Two – a man and a woman who ran a shelter for the homeless. They were jailed because, unknown to them, drug dealing was going on in the shelter, all on CCTV. They took the rap.
When I was packing up, I met an Irish poet – “I’m a really good writer…my fodder was a very hard man – brought me up hard. I just buried him when my modder was killed by a car, outside da Coach And Horses – every bone in her body, broken…” To change the subject, I tell him about the article. He’s seen it – “How much you get fer dat?” “Forty pounds.” “Dat’s shit money. I got four-hunderd an’ fafty pounds jus’ da odder day fer someting I wrote. You shouldn’t be out here doin dis…”
Earnings: £29.91p