Diary Of A Busker Day 343 Wednesday March 27th 2013 Winchester High Street, opposite Vodafone. Time: 3:13-4:07pm
The temperature on the BBC weather website says 3.4 degrees, which is about 2 degrees warmer than Monday, so I reckon I’ll last another 15 minutes. Once again, young Sam’s at The Buttercross although he’s packing up when I get there. We have a chat and I notice he’s got a hell of a lot of coinage in his case. In fact he’s made it quite easy to make an accurate guess of how much, as he’s grouped the pound coins in lots of ten, and there are five piles, and there’s an enormous pile of 50p coins. I reckon he’s got at least £80. I quiz him and yes, he’s done “alright” he says (I can see that). When did he start? About 12 o’clock – that’s just over 2 1/2 hours ago, and he’s got all that! Wow. He reckons it’s because of (a) he’s made a stage of The Buttercross, in that he’s set his music up right at the top of the steps. This, I say, is something I could never do as I don’t have the nerve, or the confidence; I suppose they’re both related. I don’t even have what it takes to set up at the BOTTOM of The Buttercross, never mind the top. I suppose to get noticed, you have to sort of make a spectacle of yourself, for want of a better expression, and that’s what Sam’s done and good luck to him – “You’ll go far, my son!” (of course, you may end up back here). But that’s all you need; nerve/confidence. Anyway, to the (b) he sings. He says he thinks a lot of people like that – ‘maybe YOU should do that’ he suggests. No Sam. If I started singing, things wouldn’t turn out the same.
He tells me he’s playing at Blissfields; do I know about that? Do I know what it is? I do. It’s a festival they have just outside of town. ‘When’s that?’ I ask. ‘May, so things are looking up. What about you?’ ‘Don’t ask!’ I say. We talk about the weather, of course. He’s doing OK but he shows me his purple hands. Poor chap. But I can trump him on that one. I tell him about the other day when my hands were in so much pain, I had to stop after 15 minutes, and that, according to the hand specialists (three German women) I saw a few years ago when they were researching my Focal Dystonia, I had the lowest pain threshold of ANYONE they’d ever seen! I tell him that was when they rigged my right hand up with loads of electrical wires and sent shocks, starting with very, very mild ones, then gradually increasing in voltage. They told me to raise my other hand when I started to feel any pain, however slight. Well, I felt it on the first one! I have super-sensitive hands, apparently. What do they expect; I’m a musician, for goodness sake! Returning to the here and now, Sam says I can play here if I want to, but it’s a bit windy so I might try down the road. I look again at all the money he’s made. Unbelievable. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d got £100 there.
Down the road, I go back and forth the few feet between the spot opposite Vodafone and the one just around the corner, both against the walls of the Monsoon shop, in fact, trying to work out if one’s got a smidgen more wind than the other. After three minutes I decide there’s not much in it and set up at the traditional spot on the High Street. I get really lucky when a man – in a suit, no less – buys a CD. This is after he says he’d like one but he hasn’t got the money…then finds a £10 note, so I give him the £5 I put in the bucket to start with.
A regular contributor over the last few months has been a 60-ish woman, who is always pushing a baby in a pram, so I’m assuming she’s a grandmother or a nanny. She never speaks to me but she always smiles and always gives me a coin. Anyway, for some reason I feel guilty when she stops today, so I say ‘You don’t have to give me something every time you see me.’ She doesn’t seem to understand so I stop playing, lean forward and say it again. She says ‘I don’t speak English.’ Oh well, what can you say to that…apart from ‘THAT’S English.’ She seems a nice person.
Ex-cruise musician, Mick, stops on the other side and makes a movement indicating vibrato-arm usage, as in his favourite – Apache. He comes over as I’m aborting an attempt at Classical Gas, which I’ve been learning from a Tommy Emmanuel YouTube video. I think I might be a while with that one, although I did debut his arrangement of Borsalino today. Mick starts chatting while I’m doing Yellow Bird so I let him do pretty much all the talking. He thinks I should learn the theme from Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence – ‘It’s written by some Japanese bloke, you might recognise it when you hear it.’ I say I’ll check it out; I haven’t seen the film. ‘Yeah, it’s a great tune. The film’s got that oh-so-bloody-marvellous David Bowie (Mick’s obviously not a fan)…he didn’t write the theme, as I say, this Japanese guy did it.’ I say again, I promise to investigate.
Then, with Mick still here, a group of students stop as I’m starting that jaunty little number, Wheels. One of them says ‘We are French’, so I say ‘Bonjour.’ Mick says to them ‘He’s good, eh? Some money?’ No, I don’t think they want to leave any money. A girl says ‘I play guitara.’ I say ‘Do you?’ (She ain’t having a go on this one). They hang about for a minute while Mick tries again to get them to part with some coinage, although he’s strangely unwilling to part with any of his own, I’ve noticed. Then they walk off – ‘Au revoir!’ I shout. They look back and one says ‘You’re good’ or at least I thought they said that. After another minute, Mick wanders off. Actually, before he goes, he asks if I’ve seen Anthony, who DID pass by, on the other side of the street, before Mick turned up. I tell him and he asks if he spoke to me. I said he didn’t. Mick says ‘I reckon he’s given up on the guitar. He’s realised how difficult a proper instrument is.’ But Mick knows that Anthony plays the piano, and not too badly. Is that not a proper instrument?
At 3:55, I look at the clock hanging on the nearby building – actually the clock is hanging in front. I want to see if I can make an hour, which means I have to play another twenty minutes, although my hands are getting really painful. I carry on with the “tuning down set” with Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring and Black Mountain Rag, which I can barely play as I can’t feel my left forefinger on the string…then I tune down more for The Rain Song…and mess it up due to the cold…after this fiasco, I call it a day, five minutes short of my goal.
On the way back up the High Street, I pass the young mandolinist I’ve seen a few times, but never spoken to, as I’ve been really unsociable recently. He’s playing rather dangerously close to the Timpsons place. Then I remember; about an hour ago, a man came up and warned me there was a policeman taking down details from a busker up the street. I didn’t think it could be Sam, as he’s packed up. It must have been this guy. I bet the Timpsons man phoned them up!
Earnings: £15.80 (including 1 CD) and a Ceska Republic silver coin.