Diary Of A Busker Day 100 Wednesday May 18th, London (Hungerford Foot Bridge, Time: 1:45-4pm).
A landmark day – my hundreth, which finishes in an appropriately memorable way. My session up here in the Big Smoke – the second in as many weeks, was due to my attendance at the unveiling of a restored statue of Frydyric Chopin, which took place in the morning, outside the Royal Festival Hall. Also present are: The Duke Of Gloucester (KG, GCVO, no less) – the statue’s unveiler, The Polish Ambassador – Ms Barbara Tuge-Erecinska, a member of the British Government who looks like every other male member of the British Government, and a couple of hundred others, mainly quite well-off, aged English and Poles including a lady, very tall with big orange hair, she’s wearing a green velvet dress/coat…surely it can’t be, can it?is it?…it IS – it’s Rula Lenska! There is also a small band playing a selection of early-twentieth century American jazz, one tune being a medley – Echoes Of Harlem, the connection with mid-nineteenth century piano music escaping my comprehension. After the unveiling there is a Chopin recital in the nearby Purcell Room by Alexander Ardakov, who returns for two encores, the first being the famous so-called “Raindrop” prelude – Opus 28, No 15. He plays it better than me. After the recital there is a VIP reception. A man makes an announcment – “for those with tickets with a gold trim who KNOW you’re going to the reception, please leave the hall first. For those with a gold trim who aren’t sure if you’re invited, you’re not!” Ms Lenska is invited. I am not.
My plan is to now do a spot of busking on the nearby Hungerford Foot Bridge – to make or try to make back as much of my train fare as I can. I’ve seen buskers here in the past and there’s always a constant stream of people walking across. At the top of the steps, the Big Issue seller sees my guitar and says “Ye goin’ to de a bit o buskin’, yeah? Jes de it? Ye carry on! Lots o gid buskin’ here, pal, ye carry on!” “Ok, thanks!” I walk on past the centre of the bridge and set up, nearer the side where the Embankment Underground station is, facing East with a nice view of St. Pauls and to my right, the Festival Hall, where I’ve just been. I’ve got my back to the train bridge, which is right next to this foot bridge. I’m wearing a suit and tie because statue unveiling is a serious affair but decide to take my tie off, as I don’t want to look posh – people might not give me money. I set up and go to it and like many times, the money’s slow to start and I feel a bit self-consious, especially in a suit, but after fifteen minutes it starts coming in, steadily. It’s mainly tourists crossing the bridge, stopping to take photos of each other in really silly poses. They’ll be doing this and hearing me and if they like it, they’ll come over and give me a pound. There are also quite a few business men/women. No money from them. I also see many of those who were at the unveiling/recital. I know they were there because they’re all carrying the free program we were all given. None of them give me anything – not even a look, apart from one man with his wife – “I like your music!” he says. Thank you, posh man – appreciator of not only Romantic-era piano music but also of 1950s Travis fingerstyle guitar. I meet a few people, including Roberto, a Flamenco guitarist who loves my Chet Atkins stuff and a little Indian girl who comes up and says “where’s the princess” over and over for some reason I’ll never know. “You play tunes!” says a lady…”nice bit of echo(reverb, actually)” says a man. I play more or less non-stop, and mainly a very small selection – The Third Man, La Vie En Rose, Ol’ Man River, Mr. Sandman and Yellow Bird. But it doesn’t matter – there’s no one in any shops or on benches to get bored! The noise bothers me a bit – there’s alot! – I’ve got the trains behind me, the pleasure boats honking away underneath and all these helicopters going over. At one point there are two trains coming in, a boat and a helicopter. But the money’s pretty steady and I cream off ten pound coins just in case someone tries to liberate them, and put them in my pocket. There’re a few left so it’s going OK – I’ve been here two and a half hours…but it all comes to an end at four o’clock. “I’m sorry, I really like what you’re playing (it’s Deve Ser Amor, first performance) and it’s not too loud but I have to ask you to stop.” It’s a short man in a uniform and cap. It’s a CPSO – here on the Hungerford Bridge! He apologises again, and again he likes what I play but no one’s allowed to play in a public thoroughfare in the City of Westminster – no they’re not, not without a permit. I ask if I can get one from him. No, he says I have to contact the local council about that, like they have to do if they want to play at Covent Garden. So that’s that. I don’t mind really – I’ve done over two hours and I know I’ve made most of the train fare back. And this guy’s quite friendly and asks about the stuff I play and how long I’ve been playing – “About two hours before you turned up!” I say. He has to be seen doing his job – there’s a CCTV camera somewhere near recording all this, he says. I say I didn’t know you couldn’t busk here – I’m from Winchester, you don’t need a permit there (yet). He has to write me out a ticket and I have to tell him my name and address, then where it says SEARCH GROUNDS, he writes, MALE WAS SEEN PLAYING HIS GUITAR ON THE HUNGERFORD BRIDGE. MALE WAS ADVISED. SATISFACTORY STOP. I write down HIS name, too. It’s Ali – his last name. His first is too long for his name badge, he says, and he’s number 7836 CW – City of Westminster. Ali apologises again and while we’re talking about busking – he says it’s a shame as alot of people think the buskers give a bit of colour to London, a man walks by and drops a pound in the bucket – “in protest!” he says. So that’s the end of that. I pack up and take a stroll up to the West End, first to the police station near Charing Cross to ask about this permit business. At the information counter, Constable Plod doesn’t know about it – “Hmm, maybe that’s why I haven’t seen any buskers lately” he thinks. “Well, you would have seen ME half an hour ago if you were walking across the Hungerford Bridge, until one of your CPSOs turned up.” “Hmm, you’re best bet is try the local council – they’re all different for all the areas. Hmmm.” “OK, thanks.” After that, I go looking for a proper gig, some place that will have a solo guitarist. There are hundreds of bars and restaurants around here, there must be some place. Some very tall guy named Tyrone in one place I went seemed interested, although he said something like “What would be your deal – would you want paying?” Deary me. I went to a few places but my guitar and amp bag were getting heavy and I’d had enough of this so I make my way back, via Trafalgar Square where I saw a guy busking with his violin over a backing track in front of the National Gallery. I waited until he’d finished his Aria then asked him if he’d had any hassle from the local constabulary. No, he hadn’t. I look the other way and see about ten police men/women looking over the concrete wall at a demonstration, something about Sri Lanka. None of them are bothered about this guy, and there is another street “performer” near him, all painted in bronze, dressed up like Wyatt Earp, standing on a small plinth. I reckon it’s just the CPSOs who hassle the buskers – the real police don’t care! It starts to rain so I make my way back to Waterloo, over the bridge, past the place where I was busted earlier and back home to count my money. Turns out I was just forty-five pence short of making back my train fare, so ‘mission accomplished’…almost.
Earnings: £30.05p
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