Diary Of A Busker Day 107 Tuesday May 31st Winchester High Street (corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 11:00-1:40pm, 2:07-4:15pm.)
An earlier start than usual as I would like to finish before 6 o’clock for a change. I haven’t been playing two minutes when I hear someone else playing, quite near and very loud. I look up the road and see a young guy blowing down a brass, clarinet shaped instrument and commiting the crime of using a backing track, therfor obliterating any sympathy which I may have had for a fellow busker. He’s in the middle of the street, not 50 feet away. Hasn’t he heard me? I stop playing – I can hear him more than me, look across the street and see Bertie the flowerman motioning me to have a word with this guy/intruder. I take my guitar and bucket (empty) over and ask him to look after them for me. Bertie says this guy probably hasn’t seen me. I go over and stand next to this guy until his backing track finishes. “Hello there, sorry about this but you might not have seen me – I’m over there (I point to where I am set up)” “No, sorry – were you there?” he says. “Yeah, but there’s a big area there, up the street (I point up the street) and there’s no one playing. There’s a big space there.” “Oh right, Oh, are you saying you want me to leave and go up there?” (I feel guilty now) “If that’s OK, just while I’m here, maybe for an hour, is that OK?” “Yeah, sure, I’m going to Alton later, anyway.” We then discuss the loudness of the Micro Cube amplifier – like me, he’s got one. He says his isn’t loud enough – it is. Back to the spot with my guitar and bucket to start my set. At 12:23 it starts to rain, as I’m starting Somewhere Over The Rainbow, so I move my stuff a few feet over to the right, into the sheltered doorway of Marks And Spencer. After a few minutes, it stops and I drag my stuff back, play and after another few minutes it starts again so I do it all again, then it stops again and I move back again…and am OK for awhile. An old man says “You’re playing better music than we usually have here!” “Really? What do you usually have here?” (besides me). “Oh, all sorts.” “Well, I play all sorts!” I inform him. I’m playing all sorts today. I’ve even sneaking in a middle bit of a Chopin Waltz – the one known as the “Minute” Waltz. The middle bit is the slow bit. The fast bit, I’ve been struggling with for years and is still not ready for public consumption but the middle bit can easily serve as an interlude between the “complete” songs. I’ve also recently been tagging the somewhat Hillbilly sounding Black Mountain Rag on to the end of Bach’s Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring – stranger bedfellows there never were.
It’s Tuesday, so my old Italian lady, Delia must be about…and here she is. She tells me an interesting story about reincarnation. A woman and her 6 year old daughter went on holiday abroad. While at a hotel (I think) the daughter became convinced she had been there before – as someone who lived in a workhouse a hundred years ago. She was convinced and described in detail the clothes she wore. Her mother said “Don’t be silly, etc.” but she kept going on about it. Later, her mother did some research and found that there had indeed been a workhouse there and found out the clothes were just like her daughter had said. Delia talks about her two sons. They’ve done pretty well for themselves she says, “But you worry about your children everyday, till you die…” she says. “Yes”, I agree, “I suppose you do.”
It starts raining again and I need a break, so I pack up, eat my small apple, take a walk… and have a quick look at the prayer board in the entrance of the church in the alleyway. Among the bits of paper with prayers written on was this – PRAY FOR ALL THOSE LIVING ON THE STREET AND NOT THE ONES JUST PRETENDING TO BE. Well, I thought, it goes without saying, doesn’t it? Anyway, who would want to “pretend” to live on the street? Speaking of the homeless – one guy I see everyday out here plonks himself down next to me, whips out a harmonica and says, “Ah! it’s a shame but someone’s just taken over your trade!” He’s only joking though – he gets up and walks off a few seconds later.
Earnings: £52.99p (+ two shillings, from 1955, 1956)
The young busker I ousted earlier returns. “Are you finished?” Yes, he is. He’s had 3 complaints, one from the lady in Montezuma, one from another shop and one from someone who lives above one of the shops. I’m not surprised – he’s loud. You don’t have to play as loud up there, the street is much more narrow and the sound reverberates more. But now I feel sorry for him. He would have been alright if I had let him stay where he was. I could have played up the road – I’m quiet, no one would have complained. Yes, I feel guilty. I offer to go up the road and he can set up here. No, he’s off to Alton, to busk outside of Boots. He can go anywhere, he says – he’s got a day bus pass. The unsuspecting people of Alton won’t know what’s hit them.