Day 2428

 

In town at the Buttercross, Don Lavelle’s doing his painting and there’s a band playing – The Hot House Combo. ‘They’re doing a gig at The Hyde tonight, they’ll just be another half hour’ says Don. I can’t wait that long so I get back on the bike, through the alley to The Square – a bit quiet there, down Market Street…Meeta’s at the crossroads, down further and set up where the flower sellers usually are, opposite Marks & Sparks. 

And I’ve not even tuned up and there she is, Claire! Well, whatever else happens, I know I’ve got a captive audience of at least one, with a load of old-lady-dancing thrown in for free.Tell a lie, there’s another captive audience, of a brace of Drongos on the bench. 

After half an hour, there’s absolutely zero coinage! That’s not to say I’m not getting attention – I am, well, the double-neck is, with loads of photos and videos…but fuck-all in the way of coinage. It’s not helped by the amount of noise, not least from a steady rumble from some building work going on from the back road through the alley.

 

A mother and two children stop to watch Claire, the boy stares at her sandalled feet and I know what he’s looking at. He’s looking at her curled up toenails under her stockings. I did the same for a second or two when I first met her a few weeks ago. After a bit, the mother moves the kids towards me. I finish a song and the kid says ‘Is this your home?’ ‘What, right here?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘No! But I live in Winchester, about fifteen minutes away. I get there on my bike, over there.’ – I point out the bike, leaning against the wall. 

‘I like your guitar’ he says. ‘Thank you. It’s the only one like it in the world.’ I turn it round so he can see the back and his mother says ‘Oh, have you been to India?’ At first I don’t understand but then realise the many spokes on the penny farthing are a bit like the Indian flag. ‘Did you go on the train from Waterloo to India?’ ‘What’s that?’ I say. ‘There used to be a train from Waterloo to India.’ ‘Yes, there did’ says Claire. ‘Well, I never knew that’ I say. 

 

The mother and kids go off and Claire resumes her dancing and the coinage is still terrible. An hour in, a woman from one of the market food stalls brings me over a paper bag with a box of food in it and plonks it down next to me. I thank her – I’ve got no idea food it is. After an hour and a half, I’ve had enough and start packing up and Claire comes to get her bag which she put behind me when I started playing. A couple of minutes later, the food woman comes over and puts another food box in the bag she put there earlier – ‘That’s for her’ she says, nodding to Claire. ‘Wait, she’s not with me!’ I say, or rather, protest. Does she think Claire’s my mother or god forbid, my wife? How old do I look, for fuck’s sake?! 

 

Anyway, I give Claire her food box and she opens it – rice and peas. ‘Oh…nice’ she says. ‘Yeah, well…you can have it on the bench if you like’, then, seeing the Drongo infestation still sitting there, ‘Or maybe not?’ ‘No’ says Claire, ‘they’re a bit…’ ‘I don’t blame you’ I say.