Diary Of A Busker Day 280 Wednesday September 5th 2012 Winchester High Street 1. Opposite Bellis, Time: 4:13-4:45pm, 2. Opposite Vodafone, Time: 5:20-6:07pm
The first session started off OK; two American women bought a CD and a middle aged couple seemed to be enjoying the music, on the bench across from me. Also on the bench is a man of about 60, close-cropped white hair, blue t-shirt, who was constantly interrupting the couple’s attention. He’d definitely had a few sherberts. After awhile he comes over, as I’m doing Yellow Bird – ‘Can you play Apache?’ ‘Yeah, sure, after I finish this one…I have to re-tune the guitar.’ ‘Yeah, can you…uh, you know, play the other one, Shadows…FBI?’ ‘Yeah, sure, after this.’ Then it was just one drunken monologue – ‘Hey, look…I’ve got EVERYTHING. From the thirties to the fifties to the sixties! What do you say…I can bring you a bunch of CDs you can learn. Look, I’ve seen you loads of times – you’re the best entertainer in Winchester (I thank him then he looks in the bucket)…Ah! – the fucking people here, they don’t appreciate the music…I’m sorry, swearing…’ Apart from the swearing, he’s also spraying me and my guitar with a considerable amount of spit. ‘But they don’t…fucking bastards, you know. You can play FBI and the other one. I’ve seen you around here.’ Then I suddenly remember that he’s the guy I met recently down the other end of the street. ‘Oh yeah, I remember you. You said before, you know everything from the thirties and’ ‘Yeah,’ he interrupts, ‘everything, now…play FBI, uh…Apache…’ All this time, I’m trying to concentrate on getting through Yellow Bird…and avoiding his spit. Then he takes a step, like he’s going to go to the bakery behind me and then WHAM, he trips and he’s on the ground, flat out on his stomach, his foot’s just touching the bag my amp is on, his head’s turned on it’s side, facing me and he’s got blood coming out his nose and he’s not moving, although his eyes are open. Two women have already rushed over and are seeing if he’s conscious. He comes round after a couple of minutes, by which time other people have stopped and someone’s phoned for an ambulance, although, for awhile, no one seems to know what number to do, apart from the police number! I go into the chocolate shop next to the bakery; the girl behind the counter’s already phoned from there. Back outside, the two women have propped the guy up a bit and are asking his name; it’s Barry something or other. Barry something or other sees his blood on the pavement – ‘Hey, is that all mine?’ ‘Yes, you’ve had a fall,’ says one of the woman. ‘Hey, I didn’t know I had all that in me, euuugh (it’s dribbling from his nose into his mouth)…blood’s got a horrible taste.’ After some more minutes, Barry regains some more composure but is becoming annoyed by the womens’ attention and frustrated by the predicament he finds himself in. ‘Hey, you! FUCK OFF! I’m alright! I need to go to a pub…or a restaurant, to do…you know, what we all have to do.’ But he can’t get up and the women aren’t going to let him, anyway. So he gets more annoyed and starts swearing more. Meanwhile the bakery sludge-bucket woman has been bringing out napkins to mop up Barry’s blood…but Barry is resenting all the help – ‘Just fucking go AWAY! Leave me alone! I’m not going anywhere, anyway, the police are after me. Look, I’m going to piss myself.’ (He looked like he already had, when he came over to me). After he calls one of the woman ‘a fucking bitch,’ I’ve had enough – ‘Hey, Barry, she’s only trying to help you, you know!’ He looks at me – ‘What? Who are YOU?’ One of the women says ‘He was playing his guitar.’ Barry then says to me – ‘Well, you can fuck off, you’re a fucking wanker!’ (I was the best entertainer in Winchester fifteen minutes ago). ‘Don’t talk to me like that, Barry.’ ‘I’ll fucking talk to you how I want, you wanker.’ Right, I’ve been hanging around waiting for the ambulance for what seems like ages, just to show my concern because, after all, this has happened on my watch and I’m an important witness but there’s no way I’m putting up with this. I don’t know how those two women can deal with all that…but they’re welcome to him! Anyway, I’m getting away from here. I pack up and take three pound coins out of my bucket which Barry had given me when he came over, and put them on the ground between his knees and say ‘Right, there you are, Barry – that’s the money you gave me, I don’t want it,’ and I walk off. I don’t feel at all sorry for him; I DO feel sorry for the two women taking the abuse. I head down and do forty-five minutes at the crossroads which is the same time as it’s taken the ambulance to arrive to cart Barry something or other off. I can see it from where I’m sitting, looking up the road to my left, at 5:45.
Earnings: £20.97 + 1 CD