Diary Of A Busker Day 375 Saturday May 25th 2013 Winchester High Street 1. Opposite Oxfam. Time: 12:25-1:35pm 2:10-3:42pm 2. Opposite River Island. Time: 4:18-5pm 3. Opposite Bellis. Time: 5:05-6:05pm
It’s the first set, opposite Maison Blanc, and the young waiter is working today and once again fails to acknowledge me so I’m going to go over and sort out whatever it is, at the end of the set.
Meanwhile, about halfway through, an old, hatted, drunk drongo comes over in the middle of a song and says ‘I’m sorry mate…but I’ve bought you a pint.’ I’ve been bought a pint by a Winchester drongo. I’ve never had that before. ‘You’ve bought me a pint?’ ‘Yeah, I’ve bought you a pint…well, I’ve bought three actually. One for you, one for me and one for my mate, but they won’t let me bring it across. You ‘ave to drink it over there.’ ‘Where? In there?’ meaning Maison Blanc. ‘Yeah, they won’t let me carry it…so…take a break, OK?…and come over and sit with us…take a break!’ I thank him, although I would have preferred the cost in donated coinage; the £3, or these days more like £4! It’s very nice of him but I’m not taking a break to sit with a couple of drunk drongos even though I say yes, I will come and sit with them in a bit. Anyway, he goes back over and joins his mate.
…half an hour later, and a couple more pints later, including probably half of mine, he comes over again but doesn’t say anything. He slumps against the wall, just to my right. He doesn’t mention the pint. I ask if he’s alright – he says he is and that’s about it. He just stays there, slumped, legs crossed.
After the next song, I decide to pack up. It’s been over an hour, anyway, and I need to have that chat with the waiter, which is something I’m getting quite nervous about. I mean, how am I going to start it off? – ‘I know you don’t really know me but I get the impression you’re blanking me.’ As I’m about to cross the road, the slumped drongo asks if I’ll be back. I assure him I will, after I’ve sorted something out and then had a break, although by the time I’ve finished whatever it is I’m going to do, I’m really going to want to go off somewhere else.
So, into Maison Blanc I go, and at the counter, I can see the young guy in the kitchen, to the left. Another young guy, who’s at the counter, asks if he can help, so I ask if I can have a word with the guy in the kitchen; I point him out. Counter guy goes off, comes back and says Kitchen guy will be over in a minute, which he is.
Here I go – ‘Hi…(then my brain went blank for some seconds while this guy’s looking at me for probably only one second but it felt like ten)…I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I’ve noticed that the last couple of weeks you seem to have blanked me and I’m trying to think why and I suddenly thought it must be something about the last thing I said when you came over and it was about a bloke – another busker I saw up the road who, because I didn’t know him, I referred to him as a foreigner, not because he was black or Chinese or anything (I was starting to feel a real idiot about now)…and I thought you must think I’m some old racist bloke, y’know?’
He says ‘No, no, I can’t really remember all that. I’ve just been really busy with the coffee machine the last few days.’ Now I really DO feel like an idiot. I must have totally misread it. I bet he thinks I’m gay, jealous over a coffee machine. ‘Oh right…sorry. I thought, you know, maybe I’m paranoid (yes) or it’s my imagination (yes)…I don’t know, I thought “Am I imagining this?” or maybe I better sort this out, I mean I’m definitely not a racist, you know, I’ve been all over the world (not quite), you know…met lots of people, I’m definitely not some old racist guy!’ I was babbling on, like an idiot. He said ‘Yeah, no, I mean, you can’t even go round with the St. George’s Cross or the Union Jack anymore.’ Good, at least he hasn’t run off to get the police, so we can have a conversation! ‘Yeah, in fact it’s funny you should say that because I was going to wear a pair of Union Jack cuff links today but I thought, if I saw you, you might think…(and here I stopped myself as I really was starting to sound like some nutter).
OK, good, he hadn’t taken any offence. He seems quite an easy-going bloke and asks if I’d like a cup of coffee, but I decline as I’m starting to think the best thing is maybe for me to get out of there but before I do, I ask his name – ‘Charlie.’ ‘And mine’s Marvin…’ Marvin the Weird Mad Musician, he’s probably thinking. ‘right…well, sorry Charlie…anyway, it’s nice to meet you,’ and with that, I’m gone!
(It’s only when I get home and relate the sordid incident, when I really REALLY felt embarrassed and thought “what the hell did I do that for?” – there were howls of laughter (though not from me) – ‘that’s genius! He probably thinks you’re insane, or gay – “Why won’t you be my friend? Don’t you want to be my friend?”‘ I don’t know, I’m not completely convinced I was wrong. He might have just been polite – how do I know? Of course, maybe I AM wrong – maybe paranoia and a bit of imagination are a bad combination. I don’t know…I reckon I’ll never know. The poor waiter!)
After I left the restaurant, I made my escape up the road to The Buttercross, where there’s a long-flamehaired, tartan-shirted guitarist taking a break, sitting on the steps. On the steps above and behind him are a bunch of noisy kids. I get to chatting to him – he’s Woody from Fife, which doesn’t surprise me. ‘Yeah, I certainly detected a Scottish thing about you. This is a long way to come, isn’t it?’ ‘Yeah, ‘ave come all the way from Fife te play HERE,’ he says, mocking me. Actually, it took me a few seconds to realise he was joking, as I’m feeling somewhat humourless after the embarrassing episode down the road, which is silly as it’s funny, really…or really funny.
The kids are shouting a few feet away so I say to him ‘How do you play over that lot?’ ‘Well, I usually find, if I ignore them, they’ll go away, after a-while.’ I mention some guy down the other end who took a photo of me; something that occasionally annoys me if they don’t contribute anything. He says ‘Yeah, there’s a guy – a Japanese guy, who was here. He was tekking one of me, from behind a pillar. He was trying te hide!’ I say it was probably the same guy. He says ‘I mean, if they’d come up and give some money, they’d ge’ a smile, too. Wouldn’t they rather have a photo of a smiling busker?’
He takes a pouch of Drum tobacco out of his shirt pocket and makes a roll-up. I tell him about my diary and ask if I can get a photo, because, basically, that’s what I want, that’s what I was leading up to. He’s fine about it – ‘Yeah, sure, and I won’t charge you!’ So now I feel a bit of an idiot, again – ‘Yeah! Oh right, and we were just talking about all that, sorry!’
Woody reckons I’d like a shot of him playing and singing, so he takes off his shirt – he’s got a T-shirt on underneath, although I would have preferred it if he’d kept the shirt on, as it’s Tartan Scottish and all that – and he picks up his guitar and sings Neil Young’s Heart Of Gold. He’s alright; at least he’s in tune and more importantly, sings like he means it, which in my book is more important than being in tune. I get three pictures, all quite good. I especially like his rather wild (Scottish) hair blowing about.
Second set, I’ve got no choice but to go back to the scene of my earlier crime, as the middle spot’s occupied by a young strummer who I passed earlier and who never seems to be playing and always seems to be on a fag break. Not just today – any day.
Songwise, it’s a noteworthy day, as I debut two new additions; two songs best described as poles apart; The Theme From The Sweeney, which is quite short and which I’ve learned for Bertie the Flowerman, and Wouldn’t It Be Nice, which I’ve learned partly because a woman who’s party I’m booked to play at, asked if I knew any Beach Boys. I told her I didn’t, as it’s all vocal harmony stuff and is hard to translate to the guitar. However, I’ve managed to knock together an arrangement, as the main melody is quite good, and there’s no harmony on it.
The best part of my version is the intro, which I think was done on a 12-string, or a special kind of 12-string mandolin. The thing is, after almost half a century, none of the people who played on the song – the one’s who are still around -seem to remember exactly what it was. Anyway, back to the present, it sounds pretty good, especially with the reverb cranked up. The rest is OK, although I’ve left the middle bit for now. I’ll maybe work that out later. Still, it’s recognisable as the song and as long as they know the song, people make up what’s missing. Well, that’s my theory and I’m sticking with it!
Earnings: £63.86 (Including one CD)