Diary Of A Busker Day 92 Friday May 6th Winchester High Street (corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 5:03-6:27pm)
I’m in a bad mood today and will be for the next three weeks or the forseeable future, whichever comes first. I have lost one of my hearing aids, the one I put behind my left ear and it will take my ever efficient local hospital – the Royal Hampshire County Hospital, three weeks to get me a new one, at a cost of £65. I’m not the only one in a bad mood – Simon, the usually friendly, chatty, night shift busker/Big Issue seller also seems to be in one. I pass him near the HMV Shop as he is talking to a beggar who’s sitting down. Two minutes later, I’ve put my two bags down and about to set up and Simon walks by and, not looking at me, mutters “Some people take the piss”. I’m not sure if it’s directed at me – maybe he thinks I’ve taken his pitch, although in my experience if someone is going to buy a Big Issue, they’ll do it if there’s a busker nearby or not and conversely, if someone wants to give a busker a pound, they’ll do it whether or not there’s a guy selling a magazine. But I don’t like someone walking by saying something like that. I wait a minute then go over to him. He’s sitting down in front of Sainsburys’ with his Big Issues, looking miserable. I don’t blame him. I’d be miserable sitting down there trying to sell a magazine. “You ok? I’m not taking your spot, am I?” “No, it’s ok” he says. I’m not convinced. “I don’t mind going up the road, outside Smiths.” “Naw, it’s nothing, that other guy’s there anyway.” He means the tramp he was talking to. “…it’s not you, you carry on, mate.” “You sure?” “Yeah, you carry on – it’s nothing to do with you, you carry on, mate.” “Right, well ok, I’m only going to do an hour, but you tell me if it’s me though.” He really is down, he usually talks to/at me for at least twenty minutes. Oh well. I set up and play and immediately feel uncomfortable – my amplifier is on my left side and without my hearing aid, the sound is quiet and muffled. I’m not used to it, it’s all wrong! I’ll have to put the amp on my right side, either that or turn around and face the wall, with my back to my adoring audience but with my sole hearing-aided ear nearest to the sound. Hmm…this will be difficult, for I am a man of habit and tradition. I will see how I get on today…
A few weeks ago I made the aquaintance of several actors/dancers who have Downs’ Syndrome. They were rehearsing a play up at the Tower Arts Centre. They sometimes come up and stand next to me for a few minutes. They do so today – as soon as I’m about to start, two appear from around the corner. Their play’s debut performance is tomorrow and they’re pretty confident about it all. I’ll miss it as I’ll be doing a hybrid gig/busking spot in London, but hope to see a later show. I saw a rehearsal, they’re very good. One pats me on the head and gives me a penny.
…I am visited by the friendly old man who lives at the nearby almshouses. He’s holding a tissue covered in blood up to his nose. “Oh dear, a nose bleed?” I say. “Yes, I do get them. I like what you play. Do you learn each song at a time?” “Um..yes, but sometimes I’ll be learning three or four at once, depending on how difficult some of them are. Some of them I’ve been learning for years! But at the same time I can work on other ones that don’t take as long.” I ask him if he has a guitar yet. He doesn’t but was looking at one the other day for £250. I say he doesn’t need to spend that much – he could get one at a car boot fair for next to nothing. I tell him he doesn’t need one like this one I’ve got. “No… do you think you could look for one for me?” He’s said this a couple of times before. “Yeah ok, I’ll look out for one.” “Anyway” he says, “I like Spanish music – that Aran…something.” “Ah, the Concierto de Aranjuez you mean? By Rodrigo.” “Yes, do you play it?” “Me? Oh no – that’s for the orchestra and guitar, isn’t it? No, I only do the easier ones, I’m afraid!”
My regular, the quite friendly, often generous and occasionally quite drunk one who keeps threatening to bring along his banjo for me to tune, shows up. He’s just bought a frying pan which he shows to me, holding it like a banjo. “Will you be here next week?” he says (my world is full of old men who keep repeating themselves) …I’ll bring it along.” “Yeah, I’ll be around, I see your arm’s better.” He was run over or something but no longer has his sling. “Yes, it’s amazing how fast it’s healed. Now, I wonder if you could play Harry Lime for me.” he says as he puts a five pound note in my bucket. This turns out to be half the total amount I make today in the 1 1/2 hours I’m out here. “I sure can!” I play and because, by now, I can play it backwards and with my eyes shut, I can also talk to him at the same time. “I really do love that – I wonder why” he says…and wonders. “Because it’s simple – it’s only three notes, next to each other!” I offer, as an explanation as good as any other.
Earnings: £10.14p
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