Diary Of A Busker Day 172 Sunday October 23rd Winchester High Street (opposite Vodafone, Time: 5-5:30pm).
A last minute session at the day’s end – I reckon I can “get” a few people on their way home. I pass two men sitting on a the bench opposite The Buttercross, one says “You’re a bit late, aren’t you? – everybody’s gone!” I explain the phenomenon, which is also a fact, that I often make as much, (or as little) money no matter if it’s busy or if it’s almost dead. They tell me there was an opera singer – a lady – here earlier, who was very popular. “Really? Well I’m glad she’s gone!” They tell me “the guy with the accordion was about.” “Frank, you mean? Cowboy hat, white beard?” “Yeah.” “He’s been lurking about, has he? I haven’t seen him for awhile…”
I set up at the crossroads. It’s windy but not cold, which is fine – this is partly why I came in today – I need to make the most of it, whenever it’s not too cold.
…a couple with their one year old in a buggy park in front of me. I play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star – this time just the most basic arrangement, just the notes, played slowly, one after the other. I had been playing it “melodic” banjo style with the notes all played on different strings and overlapping one another, giving a somewhat bell-like sound, but I think this was causing some confusion amongst the children so I’ve decided to strip it down and go for the simplest way. Near the end of “Twinkle”, there’s the vague-est beginning of a smile on the child’s face – great, they recognise it, then…BOING! – I blow the second last note, the WHAT in “how I wonder what you are.” What an idiot. …a bit later I do another wrong note, just after a bunch of people give me some change. “Sorry, the wind – it blew my finger on the wrong note.” One of my more inspired excuses, I thought.
Near the end, a beggar chats with me. This is the guy who recently said there were too many beggars about and he “can’t be arsed begging tonight.” He too reports on the opera singing sensation. “She was rakin’ it in – she must ‘ave been getting three, four hundred quid every ‘alf hour.” “Really? Three hundred quid?” “Yeah. She ‘ad a bucket bigger than yours, full of pound coins. People were giving her ten, twenty pound notes.” He asks if I mind if he sits down in the doorway next to me. “No, you carry on – I’m leaving in a minute – I only came in for a short one.” When I pack up, he asks me if I’ve had a good day. I say it’s alright – I’ve got just over £10. “Could be worse, eh? I’ve made £2 in one hour.”
Earnings: £11.96p (and one US dime – 10 cents)