Diary Of A Busker Day 80 Wednesday April 13th Winchester High Street (1. opposite WH Smiths, Time: 3:25-5:15pm, 2. opposite Clinton Cards, Time: 5:43-6:20pm.)
Got set up and started with Yellow Bird – hadn’t been playing a minute when a young guy comes over – “Can we film you for the local news?” “Umm… yeah, sure.” I often see people doing this in the high street – whether they actually turn up on the local news is another thing. Another guy, standing in the middle of the street, starts filming me…then I think – I should be playing my signature piece – The Third Man Theme, so I ask if they mind waiting while I tune up for it, as Yellow Bird has two strings tuned down. I do this but in my haste I’m not quite in tune. Oh well, I play The Third Man for about twenty seconds…then The First Man comes over, says thanks and puts a couple of coins in the bucket.
…I’m having a lot of tuning problems during this set, in fact I’m having to check all the strings after almost every song, which is time consuming, tedious and boring for us all…
A man – listening, slightly behind me and to my side, presents himself – “So, what guitarists do you listen to?” “Hm…probably Chet Atkins – for the stuff I do out here, anyway, but I’ve listened to loads of others in the past.” He tells me who HE likes – “I like Peter Green. Before he went weird, and Al DiMeola – I’ve met him and written to him, a few times. Actually wrote back to me – a letter. He’s a really nice man.” “Really?” I tell him about when I sent emails to a few well known pianists and finger-style guitarists to ask if they had ever heard of or knew anyone with my Focal Dystonia hand condition. The only one who bothered to reply – within half an hour! – was Roger McGuinn, my 12 string guitar “hero” from way back when. “What’s Focal Dystonia?” he asks. “It’s a neurological condition where the signals from the brain get confused and mixed up on the way down to the hand, etc…” He interupts – “Neuroplasicity.” “What’s that?” I say. He reels off a load of words containing, on average, eight syllables. He writes down the name of a specialist, a “pioneer” on the subject which I say I’ll investigate – and many thanks, sir. Back on the topic of friendly, famous musicians, the man tells me that, now, if you want to go backstage and “meet the band”, you have to pay – money. “Not like in the ‘eighties”, he says, “when THEY were glad to see YOU. I had to pay one hundred and fifty pounds – for three of us, to go backsage the other day in Portsmouth.” And who was that, I ask. “The Moody Blues – but they’re all like that now. AND there was only three of them – John Lodge, Mike Pender and (The Third Man who’s name I’ve forgotten). No, not like it was in the eighties…”
…a bit later a man comes up – dirty, dark suit, black Stetson, necktie, sandals, slurring his words – “I wanna form… a baaaand, y’know, gotta get an amp, guitar…people say I should do it, y’know…I look like, um…I should be in a baaand (Motorhead, maybe.)…yeah…I done the drugs, been through thaaat…yeah…” Oh dear. I tell him it’s a lot of hard work (sometimes). I look down and see his big toenail, which looks like it’s got a horrible disease, like Gangrene. Anyway, he drifts off, to form his band – In his mind, I expect.
At the end, for my final two songs, I’m joined by an old aquaintance from the open-mic days – young Bethyn, who takes off her purple boots and dances in the more or less deserted street. Certainly, the calm after the storm that was yesterday.
Earnings: £24.00