Diary Of A Busker Day 98 Monday May 16th Winchester High Street (corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 1:30-6:05pm.)
One of my regulars, the man with two wives turns up just after I start. What has he got to say for himself, the greedy man. “Saw Lady Ga Ga on the telly last night. She’s getting good, isn’t she?” “I don’t know, I don’t listen to that stuff” I reply. “No? I was thinking, she’s as good as Madonna!” Well I don’t like her, either – “I don’t like her, either! I never did.” “No? Why’s that? – too commercial?” “I don’t know. I don’t like music that sounds like it’s made by a machine or a computer. I’m not into it.” “Do you like other things, like Status Quo?” “No, not really, it all sounds the same (I play a Quo-sounding thing for a few seconds)…there’s no depth or anything! It’s allright if you’re at a party (which I never am), I suppose, and having a few drinks, maybe. I mean, it’s good-time music, isn’t it? But that’s what it’s supposed to be – you don’t have to concentrate on it!” “You’re a very discerning man!” he says – the man who has to discern between two wives.
It’s a long session – almost five hours, and all in one place. I keep promising myself (and everyone else) that I’ll move to a different place in a minute but I never do it. Oh well, I may as well make the most of this spot now it’s out of bounds for most days, due to the various markets taking over. A couple in their late fifties walk by. The man says “Your D string needs tightening up a bit.” The affront! “Oh yeah, you reckon?” I shout. “Yeah!” he shouts back. The affrontery!…and the audacity! “You serious?” I shout. “What? yeah!” he replies, as he disappears around the corner. The cheek, the shameless audacity…and effrontery!
…another man, who’s clearly had enough of me, walks by and says, “Hello mate, you’re always there, aren’t you – playing a happy tune!” I’m not ALWAYS here, though I am today – I’m beginning to feel I should be paying rent for this space. A couple down from Buxton give me some money. He’s impressed with the toilets at the Abbey Gardens, nearby. They’re the first toilets he’s been in that have classical music playing in the background. That must be a new thing, I say, they never used to. “So” I ask, “When are you going back?” “Not for a few days – we’ve only just got here two hours ago. We’re just having a look around the street. We’d like to find a nice restaurant. I say there’s a Cafe Rouge somewhere, I think. “No – we KNOW what we like.”
A man comes up – “Play some Chuck Berry, man! Yeah!” then HE ‘plays’ some – Chuck Berry, I’m assuming – on his air guitar and sings an intro – “Oh Carol…” I’m happy to oblige and play the Chuck Berry intro everyone knows because they’re all minor variations on the Johnny B Goode one. “Yeah! All that stuff – it’s the best…” “Yeah, I don’t play it much now” I say, “But I used to play all that when I was young. I played all that old stuff Eddie Cochran, Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, yep, all that stuff.” “Hey, I’m forty-one and I still love it! Listen, I’m just going to Sainsbury’s and I’ll be back in a minute, Ok?” “Yeah, ok.” He never does.
My budding pensioner guitarist turns up at six o’clock. He’s got a way of remembering the notes of the guitar strings – EADGBE. “Now, let me think…it’s an anagram…Ernie Ate Dynamite, Good-Bye Ernie.”
Earnings: £45.88p