Diary Of A Busker Day 60 Tuesday March 15th Winchester High Street (1. opposite WH Smiths, Time: 4:05-5pm, 2. corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 5:10-6:40pm.)
I start the day’s session with a selection of Chet Atkins arrangements – including The Third Man, of course. I’m playing to an old lady sitting on the bench across the pavement. She’s soon joined by two other old ladies, then a third. This brings to mind the scene in Hitchcocks’ The Birds where more and more birds gather on the wire and then attack the terrified woman. I’m adjusting the scene and imagining these old ladies suddenly all coming over and pelting me with pound coins. At the end, as they are getting up to leave, one comes over, puts a coin in the hat and says “I was the only one who guessed The Harry Lime Theme, you know!”
Later on… I’m playing Ol’ Man River and hear a sound behind me – a sound I don’t want to hear – the sound of a blues harp. It’s the tramp who I saw last week sitting on the bench next to the innocent old man. The tramp sitting on one side, playing his harp, old man in middle and Frank playing his accordian next to him. Now he’s inflicting the same thing – which I have to admit caused great amusement between me and the flower seller – on ME! What is this – some kind of poetic justice?! Well, I’m not having it! I turn and ask him not to play with me – he can go down the road and play there. He mumbles something and moves away. I start to play again. He’s back and joins in. I’ve had enough and I don’t care if he’s playing in the right key – which he is, I’ve still had enough. I pack up and I’m almost done when he comes over and mumbles something else. I lose my patience – “Look, do I have a sign above my head saying GUITARIST NEEDS DRUNKEN HARP PLAYER?” “Can I have a couple of quid?” he says. “No.” I leave for the corner down the road and keep looking behind to see if he’s following me.
I set up and have a relatively undisturbed hour and a half. I meet Josh again. the Irish photography student who took some pictures recently, for his My Life – The Street project. He took some pictures of Bertie the flowerman, one of the CPSOs, the street cleaners, Big Issue people, the charity people…and me. He’s been taking some more, but today he’s asking people who are walking down the street if he can take their photo. Anyone. He says the businessmen – the ‘suits’, as they’re known to us rebels(!) – are not very accomodating, to put it mildly, and an old guy on a bench wanted some money. He wasn’t homeless or begging, he just wanted paying for it like he was a model or something! I say it’s a shame how everyone’s on the make now. Everyone wants something out of everything. I think of those old pictures from 100 years ago when people were thrilled to be in a photo in a street scene and they’d stop and pose for the camera – Shopkeepers with aprons and brooms, people with bicycles, girls with big hoops! At least they’re remembered in books. Yes, it’s a real shame how jaded so many of ‘us’ have become.
A youth who has been sitting nearby comes over. He’s wearing a small ‘pork pie’ hat – all small hats are funny. “Hey, you’re not a bad player, d’you know any David Bowie?” I know some songs of his, I know the chords to Space Oddity, but not for instrumental guitar, I tell him. “How old are you?” he asks. “Forty-eight.” “You don’t look too bad for your age.” he says. I force a chuckle – he should talk to Mabel. She thinks I’m seventy-three. “How old are you?” I ask. “I’m eighteen – I’ve just had my first tattoo done.” I think tattoos look stupid unless you’re an ex-convict and/or work for the Post Office, or Popeye. They look particularly appalling on young women – and they all seem to have them now. It’s been fashionable – in this country – no other, it seems – for them to get one of these horrible things done as soon as they get to the legal age.
Later on, a lady and her son listen to me. He’s in his pushchair. They are Italian. He looks tired. “He looks tired” I say. “Yes, he’s been crying. We were at the park.” “Oh, and he didn’t want to leave?” “No.” “What’s his name?” “Philippo.” “I like your jacket, Philippo – it’s like mine, but smaller!” Philippo has scrambled out of his pushchair and has been given a 50p coin to put in my hat, but like other men(!) his age, he doesn’t understand. He puts the 50p in but then takes out a pound coin and a 2p piece. Hey! I’m getting the raw end of the deal here! His mother eventually gets him to put the pound back and I say he can have the 2p coin, as a present.
I finish up with the theme from The Good, The Bad And the Ugly – with the reverb up, of course. A man comes from around the corner – “I was wondering where that was coming from! I haven’t got any money on me now, but I usually give you something – I’ve seen you a few times.” I say that’s OK and I play it again – it works best at this time of day, when there’s hardly anyone about!
Earnings: £21.30p