Diary Of A Busker Day 216 Thursday March 29th 2012 Winchester High Street 1. Opposite Vodafone, Time: 11:40-1:09pm, 2. Opposite O2, Time: 1:35-2:10pm, 3. Opposite Card factory, Time: 2:22-3pm
The first session – at the current popular crossroads spot, passed pleasantly and several people made the effort, always appreciated, to come up and pay a compliment, and the usual hourly rate was achieved. The bloke with the ice-cream cart was plying his trade just outside the Vodafone shop but he didn’t offer me an ice-cream today. I take a twenty-five minute break in the cathedral grounds then I’m back on the street, near The Buttercross, (slowly) making my way home. If I can get an hour and a half in, that’ll do. …however, after half an hour I hear the sound of a flute. I look around and up in front of The Buttercross, not twenty-five feet away, is a schoolgirl with a music stand in front of her, playing Amazing Grace. I pick up my bucket, walk up to her and interrupt – ‘Excuse me, didn’t you see me? I’m just over there.’ I point to where I am/was. ‘Um, no…sorry.’ she says, biting her lip. ‘You must have heard me – I’ve been there half an hour.’ ‘Oh…sorry’, she says, still biting. I’m quite angry about this but don’t want to start shouting – it’s not my style…and there’s no point, I’ve been here half an hour – I can go somewhere else. I calm down – besides, people in the street won’t like that sort of thing – a man telling off a young girl. They’ll turn on me. I could get lynched. It’s not worth it. I ask her name. ‘It’s Cossie.’ Strange name, I think. I probe further – ‘What? Cossie? – how do you spell that?’ ‘C-O-S-S-I-E.’ ‘Oh, right…so what’s that short for?’ ‘Constance.’ ‘Ah, I see.’ (shouldn’t it be Connie?). ‘Well, Cossie, next time just have a look around – see if there’s anyone else about because you can’t have two people playing too near each other, especially if they’re playing in different keys.’ ‘Um…sorry.’ I tell her I’ve been here half an hour so I don’t mind moving on and then, as I’m starting to feel sorry for her, wish her luck and say she ‘has a nice sound.’ Looking into her hat, it looks like she’s doing well – but then a young girl with a flute WILL do well. People like that sort of thing.
I pack up and head down back to the crossroads but there’s two guys set up there so there’s only one resort, the last one; down to the arse-end, down at Debenhams…and after twenty minutes the tables are turned and someone comes over to tell ME off. It’s one of the girls working in the Zoo jewellery shop, across the road. ‘Sorry (she’s not), can you turn down a bit – we can’t hear our music or the phone or anything.’ This is the second time she’s come over – the first was last year. Back then, as I recall, she only said they couldn’t hear the phone. But now it’s ‘our music’ and ‘everything.’ I wonder what constitutes ‘everything’ – mindless chat between her and her co-worker, possibly. However, I do as I’m told. A few minutes later, a teenage boy out with his mother walks by on the opposite side of the street. I see him now and again wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, as he is now. I recently employed some blatant opportunism in the form of a short blast of a Zeppelin riff, which paid off , as he came over and gave me a coin. I wonder if the same will work today… I stop As Time Goes By and play the riff to Whole Lotta Love (now there’s a good song coupling). He ignores it. I’m slightly put out. I do it again and he looks over but he’s clearly not coming over to contribute. For a split second, I lose it and emit a loud, manic laugh. It’s time to go, I reckon. On the way back, I pass Cossie, still at The Buttercross, playing something (too cheerful for my liking) from a musical…
Earnings: £25.92
