Diary Of A Busker Day 286 Thursday September 20th 2012 Winchester High Street 1. Opposite Oxfam, Time: 12:39-1:42pm, 2. Opposite Vodafone, Time: 1:50-3:10pm
Walter, my most regular “regular” from down this end of the street, comes over during Can’t Help Falling In Love. ‘I could play the alto sax on that bit,’ he says, after I play the middle break. I tell him he’s very welcome to come down and do just that, and give ME a break. ‘I’ve been in the Musician’s Union since 1936 – a life member,’ he says. 1936! – he must be older than I thought; he must be ninety, at least; as old as Ralph, who I haven’t seen for a bit. While we’re chatting, I’m still playing, and I’m getting the feeling it’s getting on his nerves…then he says, ‘When are you going to get to the Edgware Road?’ ‘Sorry? What’s that?’ ‘The Edgware Road – when someone wanted to finish a song (his danceband days, again), they’d shout “EDGWARE ROAD!” And that was the cue, you know – a little da da da daaa thing, a few notes, so we’d all know to end it.’ He sings four notes and I immediately know the thing he means; three short notes followed by a long one; so, a first note, then a second note a bit higher than the first, then a third note – the same as the first, and the fourth note a bit higher than the second. So, if it’s played over an E major chord, the first note’s a B, second a C#, third – back to a B, fourth – up to a D, thereby creating an E7th. Everyone will have heard it at some point in their lives! I play it to Walter; ‘Haha! That’s it!,’ he says. He again points to the huge flower basket above my head. ‘You did that the other day, Walter.’ ‘Do you know what they are?’ he says. ‘The flowers? No.’ ‘Petunias?’ ‘I don’t know, Walter!’ Then he’s off. Afterwards, I wondered why that four-note thing was called The Edgware Road, or just Edgware Road. I’ll have to ask him next time. I suppose it has to be called something.
Just before I leave here, an old lady contributes, then says,’You’re in the wrong place. You should be up where all the people are,’ then, moving her face a bit too close to mine, ‘They’re all MISERABLE!’ Actually, she might be right; my takings here are a bit below the average and I leave after an hour…to set up where ‘all the people are,’ at the crossroads, where there’s been some scaffolding up for a few days, which is handy as it gives me a bit of cover in case it rains, as it probably will. I set up and play while a bloke in white overalls potters about and paints the wall of the Monsoon shop, behind me. The smell of the paint is a bit sickly at first but I get used to it, although after an hour or so, I’m quite relieved to pack up and get away from it. Just before I do, my Down’s Syndrome mate, Tom, stops by and stands next to me. Then a man asks if he can take a photo; I say he can (will he drop a coin in, I wonder…I’m not going to ask him to). As he’s adjusting his camera, Tom moves in behind me, to get himself into the shot!…and stays there! I ask how he’s been; ‘Done any acting, Tom?’ ‘Yeah, I was doing Doctors on Tuesday.’ ‘Really? You get paid good money for that?’ ‘Yeah, two-hundred pounds.’ ‘Wow, that’s a damn sight more than what I get here!’
When I’m packed up and about to walk off – the camera guy DID put a coin in AND got Tom in his shot, Mr. Painter says to me, ‘Had enough?’ ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘and I think YOU’VE probably had enough of me, too.’ He says he likes me, but earlier, the manager of Monsoon was saying to him that yesterday they had some people here and she wanted to dump a bucket of paint on them; they were terrible! I ask him if he knows who they were; he doesn’t, he wasn’t here and she didn’t say. I’m intrigued (and like a bit of gossip now and again) and try to find out from the girl behind the counter in Monsoon…but she wasn’t here yesterday, either. Back outside, I say, ‘They don’t know in there, either,’ to Mr. Painter. He says, ‘Elton John?’ ‘Elton John?’ ‘Yeah, or Paul McCartney – he can’t sing anymore.’ ‘Oh I see, yeah, maybe. All those guys have been around too long.’
Earnings: £21.79 + 1 CD