Diary Of A Busker Day 110 Friday June 3rd Winchester High Street (outside Debenhams, Time: 1:53-5:45pm.)
Walking into town I notice a policeman talking to one of the beggars – the short, bearded one with the Yorkshire. He is usually to be found sitting down (with a tin bowl in front, white pitbull-ish looking dog beside) outside the HMV Shop, just up from where I often busk outside Marks And Spencer. As I’m walking by he sees me and says to the policeman “Look, he’s out here everyday with a bucket, aren’t you? Tell him!” Obviously the cop’s trying to move this guy on. “Yeah, I’m out here most days, but I’m a busker”, I say. He’s ready, this crafty beggar, “So am I – I’ve got a drum in here”, he pats his rucksack. I look at the policeman who smiles at me. “Yeah, well, good luck to you”, I say and walk off. It doesn’t bother me at first but the more I think about it the more angry I get – how dare this “tramp” put himself in the same level as me – someone who’s spent their whole life learning how to play an instrument (and has even, by constant practice, become afflicted by an incurable neurological condition resulting in the near paralysis of two fingers) and works damn hard, concentrating every second while playing. This guy does nothing, he doesn’t even sell The Big Issue. All he does is sit there and when he sees a cop come along, whips out his drum and hits it twice. You can train a dog to do that. You can probably even get to the finals in a TV “talent” competition doing that. It’s nothing to do with being a musician, though. Of course, he knows this. And then I was thinking – this guy always seems friendly enough when I see him about the town when I’m busking but he’s clearly got no problem about “dobbing” me in. Interesting.
There are a few other buskers about along the main bit of the high street so I’ve got no choice but to head for the wrong side of the tracks – the arse end of the high street, namely outside Debenhams, the same place I had a financially disastrous session recently. I set up, start playing and keep my head down, only looking at the bucket just in front of me because it’s one of those days when I’m embarrassed to be doing this. A blind guy has stopped near me, he’s holding a card that says SOME ASSISTANCE REQUIRED. I lean my guitar against the shop window and go up to him, “Where are you trying to go?” “Debenhams”, he says. I lead him to the entrance, “Will you be alright now?” “I hope so”, he says. I turn to go back and see my guitar has fallen to the ground. I pick it up (and say something under my breath) and tune it up as two of the tuning pegs have been knocked about a bit. I carry on, head down. I was going to give it an hour and if things weren’t “looking up” I was going to pack up but things get better – I start getting donations. One woman even gives me a £5 note. It turns out I get the same rate as if I was up the road in one of the prime locations. I cheer up and forget about the earlier episode with he beggar. And this spot does have it’s good points, one being I don’t get the tramps and their flotsam and jetsam congealing around me, as I often do in the busier areas – they don’t come down here. It’s very loud though – this bit of the street isn’t pedestrianised and the buses are very near and stop here before they turn the corner and there are many delivery vans stopping to unload stuff for the shops.
It’s Friday and Delia, my old Italian lady comes by – on the way home. She says she’s worried that the pollution from the buses (and vans and fire engine – there’s a couple of them too) will affect my health. Later, during The Third Man, an old couple across the street come over, the man asks what it is I’m playing. I tell him. “Oh, my wife thought it was called The Green Man!” Near the end, three young guys come by. One puts some change in the bucket then lies down on his stomach in front of me while one of the others takes a picture…
Earnings: £44.59p.