Diary Of A Busker Day 95 Thursday May 12th Winchester High Street (opposite Vodaphone, Time: 1:58-4pm, 4:32-6pm.)
I’ve had a three day break but now it’s time to go back to “work”. As I approach The Buttercross I notice a man wearing sunglasses, a hat and a blue boilersuit sitting down against the monument, a two wheel cart next to him. I don’t recognise him but as I walk past, I hear “Marvin” – it’s Frank. He seems to be decked out in all different gear today and the cart looks like another one – much more colourful than the usual. I go over and apologise for not recognising him – it must be his summer look, with the shades. Frank asks if I’ve heard about the councils’ plans to introduce the buskers’ permit. For an initial fee of ten pounds, the buskers will be allowed to perform – in certain spots. I’ve heard about this from Bertie, but until it happens it’s just a rumour. Anyway, I’m not bothered about it – in fact it’s supposed to clear the high street of the beggars because the police don’t want to be bothered with asking them to move on – they have to let them stay if they suddenly produce a penny whistle, small drum, etc., and start ‘playing’. Which reminds me, I haven’t seen the small drum beggar around recently. Frank tells me why. Apparently he’s in jail for hitting his neighbour in the face with a big plank of wood after the neighbour complained about the loud music he was playing. Frank reckons he’s going down for attempted murder, or GBH “at the least”. He reckons we won’t be seeing him for awhile. Wait! – this was the same guy I lost my temper with a few months ago – who objected to me setting up near him. Cripes!
Two girls about twenty years old and carrying guitars walk by. Frank reckons they’re looking for a spot and it’s just this part of the high street that’s buskable today – the market is all down the other end. It used to be just Wednesday, now it’s Thursday and Friday as well. This sort of puts one of my favourite spots – the corner of Marks And Spencer, out of bounds, as it’s too close to the stalls. The girls have walked down a bit and are now coming back. Frank advises me to go and get a spot before they do. I walk quickly and catch up with them just as they put their stuff down around the middle of the covered stretch. I suppose I could have overtaken them and got to the spot a few seconds earlier but that ‘aint no way to behave to a couple of young ladies! It’s not the end of the world. I say hello and ask if they’re buskers. “Yeah, did you want this place?” “It’s ok, I can go down there (there’s a spot at the bottom near the jewellers)..how long do you usually do?” “About an hour, we think.” “Ok, good luck!” I walk down the road to the spot – there’s enough distance between us, they won’t hear me. I start with La Vie En Rose – quite a habit these days. Afterwards, a man comes up and puts a pound in the bucket – “Now, what are you going to play me?” “Thank you very much, this one…” The Third Man, naturally. This man plonks himself down against the wall next to me. Don’t get too comfortable, pal, I think to myself. He talks to me while I’m playing. His name’s Dave or “Dangerous Dave, as they used to call me, but I’ve calmed down a bit. I’m fifty now, I can’t carry on like that.” Good, I’m pleased he’s calmed down. Hm…there IS something scary, yes – even dangerous, about him – he has a hard looking face. I play The Theme From The Good, The Bad And The Ugly – Dangerous Dave likes themes. “Yeah, that sounds like Apache, The Shadows, can you play that?” “No, sorry Dave.” He’s not angry at me, which is good. He says good bye and walks off. The two girls walk past, they only did forty minutes! You gotta stick with it out here, ladies!
I’ve got my head down and suddenly there’s a finger almost touching one of my guitar strings. “So that’s the sixth string, is it?” It’s the old gentleman who wants to learn how to play the guitar. “Oh hello, yes.” Then, pointing to the first string – “And that’s the first, is it?” “Yep, and that’s the third, and that’s the fourth…” I go through them all. Then I ask how he’s getting on with his guitar tuition books he bought from a charity shop. “Well, there’s alot to go through, isn’t there? I just want to make sure I know a bit so I’m not wasting your time” – he would like me to give him some lessons. The trouble is, he’s trying to learn about the guitar but he hasn’t got one – it’s crazy! I feel a bit sorry for him – he doesn’t look like he’s got much money, maybe he can’t afford even a cheap guitar. Hm… I have a quick think and have an idea. I say I’ll bring a guitar for him – a small nylon string one I don’t play. He can have it – “you can’t learn an instrument with just a book!” I say. So we agree to meet here the same time tomorrow, about three o’clock. I tell him that I’ll definately be here. Will HE? He says he will…
… a lady comes up and asks if I watched the dvd about the man and the jellyfish – stung by five box jellyfish, I think she said. I’m thinking about playing – these people WILL come up and just start talking while I’m in the middle of playing something! and don’t know what she’s on about. Five Box Jellyfish? “Is that a group or something?” I say. “No!” – she sounds put out. Then I remember – this is the Christian lady who gave me the dvd with the guy giving the talk about how he was stung by these deadly jellyfish and he died for twenty minutes then came back to life. I did play it but the picture froze up after an hour, just when he was getting to the crucial bit – in the hospital, just before he supposedly/allegedly died. I tell her this. “Oh, the next bit is him saying why Jesus chose HIM to come back to life – are you a Christian?” “No, I don’t follow any religion. I still find this stuff interesting, though. Do you have another video I can try?” Yes she does. I promise to watch the end bit…
“Legless” Brian, Maurice’s’ friend, scoots by in his wheelchair – “Hello Brian.” No response – he never returns my greetings.
A young lady, one of a bunch of people who are wearing jackets with POVERTY written on the back – they’ve been around this area the whole time, comes up to me – “Can I just say you’re WICKED!” “Thanks…is that good?” “Yeah, wicked – awesome!” “Well…ok, thanks. How are you getting on?” She says she’s got thirty-five signatures but needs to get at least fifty. “What if you don’t?” “I get the sack!” “Really?” “No, probably not.” She gets alot of abuse, she says. It’s one job I’m glad I’m not doing. This whole busking business gets pretty depressing sometimes, like when it’s cold or when I’ve played for half an hour and not got a penny, but I wouldn’t do her job. I tell her about MY line – how I won’t get anything for ages then suddenly loads of people will come up. It’s like that with her job, too. I suppose it helps to have a cheeful disposition, which she seems to have. I ask her name. “It’s Emily, Emily Scott.”
…I have another fan – the guy from the Nokia shop, opposite. He’s been standing outside, handing out Nokia leaflets. He comes over to say he really likes my James Bond number – “It’s really cool.” The lady from the bakery is out in the street giving out very small pieces of something on a tray. She comes over to me – “Would you like some pumpkin bread?” “Yeah ok, it’s about my snack time, anyway.” I get the last two bits, and they really ARE bits. I take a break as I’ve been playing non-stop for two hours. So it’s to the cathedral to eat my small apple…then back to set up three feet away from the other spot – for a small change of scenery. Frank’s finished up the road and he comes by – “I’ve just had two little girls running around The Buttercross on skateboards for the last hour. How do you tell ’em?” “I don’t know Frank, stick your foot out?” Off he goes. Then, not five minutes later, there’s a little girl with a skateboard in front of me! She starts dancing, then I hear a lady shout “COME ON! Or we’ll get a parking fine!” and she’s gone. I’ve been spared.
I’m on the final stretch and there are six teenagers standing near me, just to my left. One comes up and pretends to pick my bucket up and walks back to the rest. I make sure they see my look of displeasure then, one by one, they all come up and put money in, mainly very low denomination coins – shrapnel. Still, I thank them. It turns out they’re French – from Picardy, near Paris, and they’re soon joined by about twenty more and their two adult guardians/teachers. They all stand in front of me and all the others start putting change in the bucket. “When are you going back?” I say. “Tomorrow” says the lady guardian/teacher. “Ah, and you need to get rid of your English coins?” As par for the course when confronted by the French, I say I will play La Vie En Rose, although I’m sure none of the kids will know it. “Ah, La Vie En Rose!” she says, turning to her bunch. I play it and at the end they don’t clap – unlike my more polite bunch from a few months ago, but one comes up and gives some change, followed by all the others – every other one! I say “Merci” to them all, along with quite a few “Au Revoir”s, which is about all I can remember from the Holiday French course I did six years ago. I must have known a few other things – I still have the certificate they gave me…and everyone else.
Earnings: £37.25p
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