Diary Of A Busker Day 278

Diary Of A Busker Day 278 Saturday September 1st 2012 Winchester High Street 1. Opposite Oxfam, Time: 3:25-4:29pm, 2. Opposite Bellis, Time: 4:44-6:10pm
Today marks the worldwide debut of my psychedelic-painted double-neck guitar kit; the two-headed monster. It’s so heavy that by the time I’ve got into the high street, my arms are an inch longer, and it’s taken me half a mile to turn corners. I hope it’s worth it…at my first spot it attracts the attention of an annoying man who asks, ‘Can you tune the twelve-string? – is it in tune?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Go on, play it!’ he demands, while I’m in the middle of Yellow Bird on the six-string neck, which I’ve just altered the tuning for! ‘Sorry, I’ve just tuned down for these few songs.’ ‘Go on!’ ‘No! I need to finish this song!’ He walks off. Good. Actually, during the set I barely touch the twelve-string neck. I think I need to ease myself into it as I’m scared I’ll mess something up while attempting a clever mid-song neck switch, and I’ll look like an idiot. The other thing is, although I’m getting a lot of looks, I’m not getting much money. This makes me paranoid; maybe the sound isn’t as good as my Epiphone. Certain aspects are definitely different; the low strings are a lot brighter, like an electric bass, while the low strings on the Epiphone are more mellow, like a string bass. I don’t know, it’s just different…maybe I need to get used to it.
After an hour, I count the money; barely £8. Not good at all. I’ll go somewhere else…the top of the high street, and if that’s no good, I’m going to ditch this monster thing.
…its a lot better here, thank goodness. I’ve also got used to the two necks and after a few minutes, I can move between them without banging my thumb, trying to get to the right position. Some more comments on the psychedelic paint-job; one man says ‘I’d pay a pound just to SEE that!’ A girl asks if she can take a photo; sure, if she can take one for me with my camera, for my photo album.
For the last half hour, the street’s pretty well deserted and I’m entertaining a bench load of the local drongos, sitting opposite. There’s Stefan with the scarf tied around his forehead, who I remember from over a year ago, going on about the blues when I was playing La Vie En Rose. Now it’s ‘Play Sweet Child o’ Mine!’ ‘Sorry, no – I don’t know that one,’ and never will. Then it’s ‘Play Stairway Ta Heaven!’ which I was expecting at some point. OK, fair enough, I don’t mind doing a bit of that, so I do the bit where the twelve-string comes in and the drongos love it. I recognise someone else on the bench; the woman from the other day down at Oxfam, who was sitting, drenched in the rain with the glass of wine next to her. In fact I think she’s the one I saw with Maurice – the “she-cat” he later said had moved in with him and had used up all his phone credit. In fact, I think she might be a prostitute – at least that’s what Doll says when I showed her the picture I took from the Oxfam doorway. Doll knew who I meant – ‘Does she wear a short black leather skirt?’ Yes. ‘Yeah, that’s the one.’

Earnings: £35.50