Diary Of A Busker Day 504 Sunday February 9th 2014 Winchester (1. Opposite Bellis/O2, Time: 11:15-12pm, 2. Opposite Pavillion, Time: 1-2:15pm).
An amusing moment on the way in. While I was crossing the road near the station, this voice boomed out ‘HELLO MY LOVELY MAN!’ It was Maurice, in his silly little so-called ‘smart’ car he got from the council. There were two blokes walking just in front of me and one said to the other – ‘Is he talking to us?’, so I said ‘No, he’s talking to me – I know him, he’s…’, and I was going to say something like ‘a character’ or ‘a weird bloke’, but I didn’t. All I said was ‘He’s…a bloke’! I was going into town a different way, via the library, to get some guitar tuition leaflets photocopied, and Doll said if I was going in to play, I should go early rather than late, when it’ll be colder. Well, it was bloody cold enough, is all I can say!
There was only one bunch playing: young strummers with a couple of guitars and one of them banging on a drum, down at Vodafone. I could hear the drum a bit, but it wasn’t too bad, once I started up. A couple of familiar faces went by: Ragtime Phillip, who smiled but didn’t stop, and afterwards, the bloke I wrote about back when I started busking. The guy who came up and said I cheered him up – Nick, although I couldn’t remember his name until after he’d gone. He said ‘Hi’ as he went by with his son. I haven’t seen him in ages.
An old lady, after donating a £2 coin, said ‘Do you stay at the night shelter?’ I said ‘No, I’ve got a home – I’m not homeless’. I thought maybe she was going to ask for one of her pounds back, but she didn’t. Do I look homeless?
It was so cold and windy, I couldn’t make the hour – only 45 minutes. But I had to stop – I couldn’t feel the ends of my fingers. I took a long break at Waterstones, sitting near the window – a good idea as the sun speeded up the warming process. I read a bit of a book about the diary of a nurse, Sister Edith Appleton, in The First World War. The page I turned to was August 28th, 1915. She had been tending a boy who she thought was about 15, and then – ‘A poor little creature not much older was brought in, dying from a stomach wound. He only lived one and a half hours. He asked me to write to his father and say it was alright – he didn’t mind going. Then he said ‘I have done my bit, but I didn’t think I should die so young’. Bloody hell. The nurse died in 1953.
Back out after 50 minutes, and those young ‘uns are still at Vodafone, and Mandolin John’s now appeared at The Butter Cross, with a guitar and shouting. I think there’s something a bit odd about him. I mean there must be if he’s out here in the cold…hey, what am I saying?! Anyway, I set up around the corner, where there’s, thankfully, hardly any wind, so I’ll maybe be able to get an hour in…and in the sun, too…it’s not warm, though!
Another amusing moment. Down the road, in front of me, and sitting outside The Eclipse pub is Legless Brian, having his pint, and about the same distance but to my right, sitting outside another pub, is Posh Brian – with a ‘Y’. Ha! And miracle of miracles, Posh Brian with a ‘Y’ actually contributes! He comes up and says ‘You kept me entertained while I was drinking my wine’.
I end up, rather daringly, considering my thumb problem, as I’ve passed the hour mark by 15 minutes, thereby making the total: two hours. Last song: Here Comes The Sun, where it started to HAIL halfway through, can you believe that? I took a photo of my stool with hail on. I had a quick chat with Rick Tarrant, who was standing, getting his guitar out, at the bench opposite The Butter Cross. He’d just arrived and was going to put in three or four hours, while his wife was going round town.
Money not nearly as good as yesterday, but acceptable.
Earnings: £29.80p (+ one USA dime and a 2 euro coin)