Diary Of A Busker Day 387 Tuesday June 18th 2013 Winchester High Street 1. Opposite Vodafone. Time: 1:14-3:16pm 2. Opposite Oxfam. Time: 3:26-4:23pm
When I was in town yesterday, there was young Sam, perched atop the steps of The Buttercross and doing a quite impressive rendition of Hendrix’s great Little Wing. In fact it was so impressive, I even donated a pound. Well, he’s at the same place today, but he’s not playing; his guitar’s leaning against the steps below. I ask why he’s not playing and he says the batteries in his amp have run out. That’s the problem with young folks – it’s all the here and now and they never think about the future! REMEMBER YOUR RESERVE BATTERIES!
I now commit my good deed for the day. I will look after his stuff while he goes to Boots and purchases some new batteries. But I wonder what he was going to do – sit there all day? until someone like me – a saviour, turned up to help? Maybe that’s also part of being young; you’re so optimistic and think you’re so blessed, that you’re confident without any shadow of a doubt that someone, or something, will turn up and it’ll all be fine. When he comes back, I say goodbye and tell him I’m going down the road…
…where I do a rather long set of two hours, and feel quite pleased with myself as I repeat only two songs. One, Here Comes The Sun, because Chris the scouser requested it five minutes after I played it, but being down the road, he never heard it. A request is a request. I make another pass at Classical Gas, and afterwards a bloke says ‘Was that Classical Gas you were doing?’ to which I reply ‘Well, I was ATTEMPTING to do it, yeah.’
Down at Oxfam, I see Delia for the first time in a few weeks. In fact I was once again fearing the worst, especially after hearing about Colin…and then there’s Henry, and what about Dutch Harry and Walter and Ralph? – he is (or was) 92. Anyway, enough of that…Delia’s fine, and wearing a skirt – you can barely make out the pleats. She says the pleats used to be very visible – it’s an old skirt her husband bought her from Canada. She hasn’t been well; flu, she says. She’s had huge bags under her eyes, apparently. It suddenly came into my mind that I wouldn’t mind another photo of her as the one in my album is a couple of years old. At first she doesn’t want me to take one but I’m persistent. I didn’t quite get to the bullying stage – I’d never do that to an old lady unless I was forced. No bullying, just a little gentle nudging, I’d say…and she relents. I bend down almost to the ground so as not to make her look so tiny, so I’m looking up at her face. When I show it to her, I can tell she likes it so I say I’ll get a copy for her.
Later on, one of my nameless OLRs (Old Lady Regulars) asks me if I’ve learned anything new. I say I’m learning Londonderry Air, or Danny Boy as everyone calls it, but it’s not for human consumption, yet. I’m learning it mainly to play to an old Irish guy who drinks at Clare’s pub, The Thomas Lord in East Meon, where I played on Father’s Day. He came over in the 1950s with nothing and built a business, buying and hiring out machinery. He lost two children, both in car accidents when they were 18 or 19, about a year apart, too. How do people cope? Anyway, I’ve been scrutinising Chet Atkins’s arrangement; brilliant but quite difficult…of course.
After, on my way up the road, two CPSOs see me and one comes over and I think ‘Oh no, what’s all this?’ He asks me if a man put a £50 note in my bucket a few days ago. ‘No…I’d remember if anyone did that. Why do you ask?’ ‘There’s a guy going round with fake fifty pound notes and we’ve got him on camera, putting something in your bucket.’ On camera, eh? And in MY bucket?! Once again I say no, then ‘I’d remember that – a fifty pound note. I’ve had a guy give me a hundred pounds, up there (pointing to Monsoon), and I’ve had a twenty pound note (from recently departed Colin), and a few five pound notes, but not a fifty.’ Song Of The Day is Can’t Help Falling In Love, as it secured a CD sale in the second set.
Earnings: £48.81 (Including one CD)
Note: On Sunday night, I received a message from Bjorn Igeland, informing me of the death of Claus Neeb, who approved of my Third Man rendition.