Diary Of A Busker Day 68 Sunday March 27th Winchester High Street (corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 4:38-6:20pm.)
Spoke for a few minutes with Frank who was, by his own admission, a bit worse for wear, having spent last night talking over old times with an old friend accompanied by a bottle of first class (VSOP) Brandy or Cognac, as the French say. He then told me some stories from his mis-spent youth – going to The Marquee Club in London in the late 60s… I told him about Colin and his tips for buskers – “dont play more than 2 or 3 times a week or your regulars will stop giving you money.” Frank agrees with this – “less is more” he says. I still disagree – even if you don’t get any money from the regular people, it’s still worth coming out as most of the people I get money from have never seen me before or are from out of town.
I don’t usually come in on a Sunday but there are still alot of people about, even at 4:30, so let’s see… Well, it doesn’t go that well and it’s a long time before my first coin – always a depressing situation, and for some reason I am not playing well – my timing is a bit off. This annoys me, which makes it worse, which annoys me more, which makes it worse, and so on… I play for an hour and a half and accumulate only £8. I have a brighter moment when a man from Vienna – amazingly – says he likes my arrangement of The Third Man Theme better than the original by Anton Karas. I have to inform him that ‘my’ arrangement is is fact Chet Atkins’ arrangement from 1960…
… I’ll finish soon, I think, so cue The Good, The Bad And The Ugly! I’m playing it and can hear a man’s voice from afar providing the missing bits in between the guitar bits – those monosyllabic shouts and loud grunts(!) or whatever they are that a bunch of men do from the theme. They are coming from one of a group of three – two men and a lady who are walking towards me on the other side of the pavement. The vocaliser, for want of a better word, breaks away from the group and is coming over – “Hey! you and me – Jagger and Richards, whadaya say?!” he shouts. “Sorry, what’s that?” – I’m a bit deaf. “Jagger Richards, Lennon McCartney – you know, we make a great team!” “Oh yeah, Rodgers and Hammersmith, yeah, I get you!” I say, as I ‘get’ him. This is Sam – a friendly man about forty-five, I reckon. He crouches down next to me – “So how come you’re here – what bands have you been in?” “Oh, a lot – most of them, I think! But I can’t do that anymore…” I give him my hard luck story – 30 years of ear abuse. It turns out that, like me, Sam has Tinnitus. I tell him I’ve got it in both ears – the left worse than the right and my uncle has it too – but from being blown up in the war. “What about you?” I ask. He points to his forhead – “It’s terrible, I hate it.” I know how he feels. It’s the worst when it’s quiet, like early in the morning or late at night – when there’s not much noise – that’s when you notice it, or if you happen to be talking about it! “How did you get it?” “From DJ-ing. My sister’s got it, too.” “How so, Sam?” “Too many Led Zeppelin gigs!”
Earnings: £23.08p