Day 268
Friday August 10th 2012
Winchester High Street 1. Opposite Oxfam, Time: 2:47-4:08pm, 2. Opposite Vodafone, Time: 4:20-5:30pm
A day with some pleasant and some not so pleasant moments. Down at the far end I have a chat with Delia. I say she’s wearing a nice dress – ‘Oh this? I’ve had it most of my life. It had long sleeves but I cut them off!’ I also remark on her little cardigan. ‘Oh, it’s Bavarian, all wool,’ she shows me the wool mark. ‘Oh yes, now you say it’s Bavarian, I can see how the lapels are a certain way, and the epaulets…’ Delia remarks again on how unfriendly she thinks the people of Winchester are, and she’s been here since 1946! I’ve never asked her age; I know she wouldn’t tell me, but she must be at least eighty-five.
But whatever it is, it’s not as old as Henry Gray, who comes by a bit later, smiling away in his electric buggy. I’ve spotted him a few times this summer but today is the first time he stops, as I’m playing Yellow Bird. I tell him he’s looking well, and he is. I’ve got more wrinkles around my eyes than he has! I say I know he’s a hundred now. Henry confirms ‘Yes, one hundred and one in December.’ His voice is soft and frail but he can still hear well, much better than me and I’ve got a hearing-aid! He shows me two bruises on his wrist, made by his watch – it clearly doesn’t take much to dent a hundred year old skin.
‘Well, you take care,’ Henry says, about to drive off, but wait – a photo, I must get a photo! ‘Oh, Henry…would you mind if I took a picture of you, for my busking scrapbook? – I know you’ve had a few photos taken of you in your time!’ Of course, he doesn’t mind at all. What backdrop would he like? He’s fine with the high street behind him, so I get a good shot which he likes. Good, I’ll get a copy for him.
Off he goes. I know Somewhere Over The Rainbow is his favourite and I still sometimes play it in 3/4 time – his suggestion, but I’m in the wrong tuning for it and haven’t got time to alter it and re-tune before he’s well away, so I carry on with Yellow Bird. I reckon I’ll see him on his way back so I can do it then…which I do, half an hour later, so – ‘Hello again, Henry! I’ll play Somewhere Over The Rainbow for you,’ which I do, alerting him when I’m about to go into 3/4 time – ‘You remember? You said I could play it like that.’ ‘Yes, a bit of variation,’ he says, then once again – ‘Well, you take care of yourself,’ and he’s off again. Wow. A hundred years old and bombing around town like that on his own. What a guy!
I have an unsure moment just before I finish the first set. One of the waiters, a young guy, clearing the tables outside Maison Blanc comes over. Is he going to tell me to move somewhere else? Maybe someone’s complained. Maybe they don’t want me to play here again. Paranoia! I stop playing, waiting for it… ‘Hi, I really like that version of Here Comes The Sun you played earlier,’ and he puts a couple of coins in the bucket! Phew. Maybe I’m a bit sensitive after my run-in with The Busker-Hater Of Winchester the other day. I’m grateful…and not a bit relieved; ‘Oh right…thanks! Actually I was about to leave but I’ll do that one again before I go – cheers!’ What a nice young chap.
However, things really do take a turn for the worse and I am very shortly to meet one of the biggest jerks of all time, which is saying something, having spent most of my life in rock groups.
I’m about forty-five minutes into my second set when a man, early forties, comes up and starts flicking small change into the bucket, or rather, around the bucket, as he misses every time. A 1p coin lands nearby on the dirty pavement grill, a 5p and 10p land near the bucket. Then he speaks – ‘Sooner or later, one’ll go in.’ He hath no respect; a decent, respectful person would not behave like this. I’ve let this sort of thing go, the odd time it’s happened in the past but I can’t be doing with it anymore. In fact it makes my blood boil…but I try and control myself. I stop playing, lift up the bucket and say, quite politely, ‘It might be easier if you just put it in the bucket.’ And he goes berserk, shouting and swearing – ‘Well, if you’re going to be like that, you fucking don’t deserve any money! Do you pay any rent to be here? You pay any taxes on all that (money in bucket), fuck you!’ I say it’s none of his business if I pay any rent or taxes, and he can have his money back because I don’t want it. ‘You don’t want money? You’re not a very good busker, are you?!’ ‘Actually, I just don’t want money thrown AT me and all I said was I’d rather you put it in the bucket, now can you just GO AWAY.’ He keeps going on about tax – ‘You don’t pay any tax!’
Again I say it’s none of his business, and can he please leave me alone to do my work. But he keeps shouting and swearing and now he’s telling me he’s a tax inspector and wants to know about my tax, and there’s loads of people standing around now, including a large group of Spanish students and a few Winchester people who must have seen me many times before – I hear a man shout ‘Why don’t you leave him alone?!’ and another man – ‘Why don’t you leave Winchester!’ (To HIM, not me…I think!) The ice-cream vendor lady looks over from across the way. Then, this maniac starts shouting to the foreign students for them to give me money! A lot of them do…then he’s swearing again, at which point I decide to try and ignore him and start to play again – Music To Watch Girls By, or Music To Try And Ignore Nutters By…but it’s pretty difficult as my hand’s shaking as I’ve never had this weirdness before.
So, he’s still shouting but I’m getting lots of change from everyone around, and still more from the foreign students; there must be about thirty of them. Eventually, the guy wanders off around the corner, in the direction of the cathedral, not to the confession box, I shouldn’t wonder. What was all that about? I only asked him to put the money in the bucket! Straight away, people come up to give their support…after the event, of course, apart from the two ‘Why don’t you leave him alone/Why don’t you leave Winchester!’ blokes from earlier…or maybe it was the one guy who said both. One woman says she went into a shop and got them to phone the police. Another says she was waiting for the guy to hit me, THEN she was going to phone the police! One of the Children In Need charity workers, a young woman who I’d been talking to before I started, says, ‘Good on you, mate! I thought you handled that really well, you stayed cool,’ and she gave me some coins, she made a collection from her co-workers. A minute later, I’m carrying on with the music only to have the bucket kicked over by a girl who’s just come from around the corner and now all the money’s now all over the place! A young guy shouts after her ‘HEY! COME BACK AND SORT ALL THIS OUT! COME BACK!’ She doesn’t, but a load of others collect all the money and put it back in the bucket.
The ice-cream lady from across the way says ‘This isn’t your day, is it?’ I resume the playing (whatever next, I think) for another twenty minutes, occasionally chatting to concerned well-wishers/observers/witnesses to the crime scene. Then, as I’m packing up, Neil, one of the local CPSOs, turns up on his bike. He’s responding to the call made by the woman. He starts by asking if this guy is one of the local down-and-outs. He isn’t and I’ve never seen him before, he’s certainly never come up to me, anyway. I give Neil a description and tell him all about the “assault,” fortunately only verbal. ‘But,’ I ask, ‘wouldn’t he be on that camera up there?’ There’s a CCTV camera on the building diagonally opposite, pointing right down at me. ‘Well, no…it was only switched on when we got the call (!!!), so we could see what busker it was.’ ‘That’s a lot of good then, isn’t it?’ I say. Neil writes a few things down on his little pad; takes down my name and address and starts talking to two women who want to ask him something.
Then, all of a sudden, this un-CCTV’d Jerk (his name from now on) turns up from around the corner and stops next to me; Neil has his back to him. So I tap Neil on the shoulder and say ‘Here he is, this is the guy!’ and to The Jerk – ‘Someone phoned the police about you.’ ‘Hey, I was just helping you to get more money!’ he says. ‘What?’ I say, somewhat incredulously. ‘Yeah, you got a lot more ’cause of me – I was telling everyone to give you some.’ ‘WHAT?!’ I say again, even more incredulously. Neil starts questioning The Jerk; what’s his name, address…anyway, while he’s being questioned, The Jerk produces a very small video camera which he holds at arm’s length and starts filming himself being questioned by Neil, which doesn’t seem to bother Neil – ‘What’s that? – a video camera? Oh.’ Then The Jerk turns it around to get ME into the shot, at which point I get my camera and take a photo of HIM, Neil…and Big Issue Simon, who’s turned up with his bike and is lurking just behind Neil. The Jerk shouts to me ‘Hey, smile! Look happy, you’re on camera!’ I’m angry; ‘WHAT?! SMILE?! AFTER WHAT YOU DID BACK THERE?!’ ‘Hey, I got you a lot of money! I only came back to see if you’d like a drink.’ So The Jerk now feels guilty, does he? But have a drink?…with HIM? No thanks. I’m a sensitive soul and he’s upset me…and I’ve had enough of all this – ‘Can I go now, Neil?’ Yes I can. I leave him to The Jerk.
Earnings: £45.23 + 1 CD