Diary Of A Busker Day 155 Monday September 12th Winchester High Street (1. corner of Marks And Spencer, Time: 1:17-4:17pm, 2. opposite WH Smiths, Time: 5:05-6:35pm).
This first session – on a very windy day – finds me outside Marks And Spencer, where I haven’t been since I can’t remember when. It’s so windy that I have to anchor my music folder under a leg of my camping stool but before I think of this, a woman shouts, actually screams at me, “ALL YOUR PAPERS ARE BLOWING AWAY! (two sheets) …YOU NEED A STONE!” Yeah, I need a stone – this isn’t a quarry though. A man going into the shop says “And with NO amplification. He’s referring to a letter* of mine which appeared in The Hampshire Chronicle, in responce to a letter from the week before from a man complaining about buskers using loud amplifiers in the High Street. I point out to him that I do indeed have an amplifier – but it’s small and discreet…and it’s not too loud.
A young guy says “Play Freebird, man? It’s great!” “Sorry – I don’t do that one” – and never will, as it has no melody, as such, and cannot be played on a solo guitar. He can have Albatross – that’s a bird. A very old lady says “I’ve really enjoyed listening to you play!” and walks off – no money. Another old lady – Lily, a newly aquired “fan” comes by. “I’ve bought you a sandwich – fresh from the bakery up there, not like the ones in Marks And Spencer.” I can’t be bothered with my “I’m not homeless. I have food and a house” line, so thank her, and as I’ve been here three hours, pack up and head off to the cathedral grounds – to eat it (the sandwich, not the cathedral grounds). So, what has Lily bought for me? Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato (BLT, I reckon that is) with Mayo. Eat out £2.25p, eat in £2.92p! I’d rather she gave me the money, but it is, like she assured me, very fresh and tasty – not like the ones in Marks And Spencer.
During my break I decide to count, “bag up” and take my first session earnings (£27.24p) to the bank, then do a shortish session to finish off. As I’m walking along the path at the side of the grounds, I pass a bunch of teenagers on a bench. “Hey, you play my theme song!” one girl shouts. “Do I? What’s that?” “That one that repeats, goes on and on, you know.” I know the one she means, “You mean Do Do Do Do Do, Do Do …” I hum The Third Man melody. “Yeah, that’s it! It makes you (she tilts her head from one side to another a few times), you know, makes you sort of dance. I love that. It’s sick.” What? “It’s sick? Is that bad or good?” I enquire. “It’s good, man! I want it played at my funeral!” “Well, thanks!” “No worries, man!” she says, adopting the Australian phrase, annoyingly used by 99% of English people under 35.
At the end of my second and last session, I make the aquaintance of Ben, who for the final half hour, has been sitting on the nearby bench fiddling around with his camera – big, black and probably very expensive, and taking pictures of me and the High Street. He shows me some he’s done – with me clear but people around me all blurred. He asks me about the busking and I give him a brief history of myself – my “hard luck” story, which he never asked for, however, if someone asks me “Do you make a living doing this?”, they get the story whether they want it or not. I say that if I can get £10 an hour, I’m fairly happy – like today. Ben informs me that he himself has busked – with his French horn. He says he used to make £50 an hour! But he only ever played one thing – Mozart’s horn concerto, in Guildford High Street. but, as he pointed out, the novelty value is important – you don’t often see French horn buskers. And he only ever did an hour at a time – the shop people used to get really annoyed , he says -“Oh no, not THAT again!”
Earnings: £43.40p.
* Letter published in The Hampshire Chronicle – Letters To The Editor, Thursday, September 8th, 2011.
This saxophony cacophony…(editor’s title) Sir – I couldn’t agree more with last week’s letter complaining about the buskers who use loud amplifiers in Winchester High Street. There is no need for this, as there is natural reverberation and volume created by the closeness of the buildings. Also, when someone using speakers/amplifiers and, worst of all, backing tracks, plays at either end of the street, no other (quieter) buskers can play anywhere else! I busk with my guitar three or four times a week and I’m particularly annoyed by the arrogance of some of the louder buskers, who seem to think it’s their right to inflict their (usually saxophony) cacophony for several hours upon the whole street. By the way, the other day, as I was packing up, a beggar asked me how my day had been. “OK,” I said, “What about yours?” “Terrible,” he replied. “There’s too many beggars around. I’ve made 6p. I’m not begging tonight. I can’t be arsed.”
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