Day 2448

Diary Of A Busker Day 2448 Friday October 4th 2024 Winchester.

 

An early start but not early enough to beat The Two Henrys to the top spot. Young Henry says ‘I like your outfit.’ ‘Outfit?’

‘Yeah, you look like a spy!’ ‘Do I?’ I suppose I do, with black trousers, black trenchcoat, black leather gloves and dark sunglasses. ‘Oh well, I’ll look the part when I play James Bond in a bit!’ 

I ask if they’ve seen Claire because I haven’t seen her in over a week, mainly because I haven’t been out, apart from Wednesday. Actually, I HAVE seen her as she’s been in the online Hampshire Chronicle. It seems she’s been filmed again with that young singer who had his arm round her in front of Marks & Spencer and got a load of applause. 

Anyway, Young Henry said they hadn’t seen her but they’d heard of the video of her that went viral, with over a million views. That was also with the young bloke. That’s the thing – people like to see a young bloke singing to an old lady. It just looks better than a middle-aged man playing guitar to an old lady. And if the young bloke has his arm around her, it whacks up the “Ahh, how lovely!” factor. 

Anyway, as I left, I told the Two Henrys how much I liked their rendition of Pink Floyd’s Eclipse, complete with lunatic laugh in the right place. 

 

The Square was free but was pretty dead, Meeta was down the road, well her stuff was at the crossroads, she was in her usual seat at the Pret window…further down near the old Debenhams there was that young bloke on the real upright piano so the only other place to set up was further down near the gospel hall doorway, so there I be. It was strange being there again, as I haven’t been there for months and certainly have never stood up and played but there’s a first time for everything. 

 

Shortly after I started, a man walked by saying ‘you should join him up there on the piano, you might sell more records.’ ‘I doubt it. I don’t play what he plays and he doesn’t play what I play.’ Sometimes I really feel like saying ‘excuse me but I don’t remember asking for your opinion so why don’t you mind your own fucking business.’

 

That old lady who wears the yellow mac and sometimes dumps a load of shrapnel on me comes by with her walking frame. ‘I haven’t seen you for a long time’ she says.

‘No, I haven’t been here for a week…but now I’m back!’

‘Yes, well, I’ve just celebrated my 96th birthday.’

‘Really? Well, you’re looking well for it.’

‘Well, my daughter-in-law was down to see me and she wouldn’t let me walk to the station with her, so I just had to give her directions. I was at Jewry Street, so I told her to walk down there then turn left and she’d come to it, the station. I’m on my way home now, she’s gone to Yorkshire.’ 

‘Yorkshire? Well I reckon you’ll get home well before she does.”

‘Yes…though I’ve got a problem with my feet…bumps on them and I’m supposed to rest them but you can’t rest all the time.’

‘Oh my goodness, no you can’t. I’ve got this thing with my left heel called Plantar Fasciitis. I’ve had it for about five months but last week it suddenly got ten times more painful and I had to go up to A and E.’ 

‘Oh…well, I haven’t got any change for you. I keep the £2 coins for the window cleaners…but pay for everything else with the card but I’ve got some more change at my house…I’ll see what I can find for you.’

‘Well, I’ll always take anything off you if you don’t want it!’

‘See you soon then’ she says as she goes off, probably to the St Johns Almhouses just down the road.

‘Yes, see you soon.’

 

After an hour and a half I packed up and came home as I was getting cold and had made only £10.70 (and 2 euros), which is totally unacceptable. Maybe people found my spy look a bit intimidating, although, combined with the white Gretsch, I thought it was quite cool.

 

Back in town after warming up and stuffing myself full of lunch…and changing the white Gretsch for the green one, I set up at the Buttercross as The Two Henrys have now buggered off, having cleaned up I expect, because those two make a shitload of money. Maybe that’s why I got fuck all earlier, because they’d taken everyone’s dosh.

Dangerous Dave’s brother, whose name I can’t remember, is on the bench with his wife or girlfriend…or friend. I don’t actually know their relationship. Anyway, it gives me an excuse to kick off with James Bond, as that’s his favourite and it stops him coming over and requesting/demanding I play it.

 

A rough-looking man comes along, chucks some shrapnel in and interrupts Albatross with ‘Can you play…umm…um…(come on, fucking spit it out)…Wish You Were Here?’ 

‘Wish You Were Here?’

‘Yeah, Wish You Were Here. Pink Floyd.’

‘I know the song, I mean, I know it but I don’t play it.’ Even so, I feel I should attempt it because he’s bequeathed me some coinage, however meagre, so I try and play it and manage the first bit (it’s not rocket science) and then he starts singing “So, so you think you can tell…heaven from hell…blue skies…’ ‘Alright mate, you’re alright’ I say, meaning thanks but no thanks because he sounds like a drunk singing, but he carries on – “…from a cold steel rail, a smile…from a…ah, umm…”

‘OK, cheers mate, thanks, see you…’ He offers me his hand with tobacco-stained fingers, which I feel obliged to accept but I make the contact as short as I can and touching the smallest area of my hand because I’m well finicky about my hands.

 

I managed another hour and a half in total and Dangerous Dave’s brother and his wife/girlfriend/friend were there for almost the duration. He even came over and donated, which is a rare occurrence for him. The coinage was a lot better than the earlier set – over four times as much, in fact, including a two-CD sale and a fiver…and no Claire!