Diary Of A Busker Day 109 Thursday June 2nd Winchester High Street (1. opposite Nokia, Time: 1:33-3:15pm, 5:05-6:45pm, 2. opposite Clarks, Time: 4:35-4:50pm.)
A split session where I sandwiched an ear syringe-ing appointment at the nearby surgery in between two “busks”. A lady stops, “I read your article and have to say I love it when you play The Third Man!” She is referring to the excerpt in the paper from the day when I lost my temper with the tall, unkempt, baseball capped man who, on passing said “Is that the only song you know?” during one of my hundreds of Third Man renditions. “Thanks, I haven’t played it yet, I can play it now if” before I finish, she interupts me with “Oh don’t play it now!” OK, I won’t.
Three young people walk by, one puts her hand deep in the bucket and I give my usual responce, a thank you. As they’re going off, one sniggers – here we go. I look in the bucket and see a bone, about 4 inches long. I hold it up and shout, “Oi!” One of them looks back but they keep walking on. It’s difficult for me to go after them as I have to put my guitar down and hide my bucket, or take it with me so I don’t bother but it angers and depresses me for much of the day. I get alot of people giving compliments and yet just one negative thing like this can easily over shadow everything else. Fortunately, it doesn’t happen too often…but then an hour later it happens again – this time it’s a sea shell which I suppose is somewhat more pleasant than a bone from some dead animal.
After the ear syringe (which didn’t work) I decide to give the people working in the shops a break and set up a bit further up the road. My regular, Mick, turns up for a chat. He informs me (again) of the best time to get the discounted food at Waitrose. So, when is it Mick? “Friday, about 6.” Just before 6 then – before he gets there. I’m not here long as there is a band with a PA up at The Buttercross trudge-ing through a dreary jazz version of The Police song Roxanne. They’re drowning me out – I’m going to go back to the first place. I play and the money’s slow – I swear I’ve played for half an hour and no one’s put anything in the bucket, bone or otherwise. I see 99 year old Henry Gray in his motorised cart across the street. “Henry!” I shout. He comes over and I tell him I’ve learnt Over The Rainbow, the song he requested a couple of weeks ago. I play it to him and he hums along. He’s pleased. It’s made my day, which wasn’t going that well. Henry wants me to come and visit him in his flat which isn’t far from where I live. He wants me to bring my guitar.* He plays the organ and has suggested I put a little flourish, an arpeggio perhaps, at the very end of the song.
Just before I pack up, my old aquaintance Bethyn turns up, on the way to a poetry class. She would like to know if she could dance to a tune, so she does her thing to the tune of La Vie En Rose – moderato, sans shoes, to the delight of several passers-by.
Earnings: £28.59p.
* I did visit Henry and he showed me the paintings he’d done, the beautiful pottery he had made, photos of many excellent embroideries, a magazine article about his life, titled A Very Talented Man, played many hymms and folk songs on the organ in his small music room – he can play any of them in any key and then had me playing a few of my busking songs while suggesting I change the rhythm halfway through. He certainly kept me on my toes. You’re never too old to learn…and in his case, never too old to instruct. Quite a remarkable man, and at 99.
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