Diary Of A Busker Day 2473 Monday December 23rd 2024 Winchester.
I’ve brought the heavy artillery in today in the shape of the rarely-used Cube Street, for a bit of extra volume. Not quite 11 but definitely loud enough for The Square, which is strangely quiet for an afternoon two days before Christmas. I’ll soon change all that…and it starts off well; a tenner and some good coinage (meaning £1 and £2 coins) then tapers off a bit but I’m not worried due to the tenner. It’s cold – another 6 or at most 7 degrees and it’s 45 minutes in, I’m in the middle of the Gnossienne and I’m thinking of packing up…but not before an encounter with the Arsehole Of The Day. He’s around 40, wearing a stupid woolly hat. His opening line – ‘I want you to stop playing that. I live nearby and hear you every time you’re here – you’re here every day, sometimes twice a day and you play that and the one before every time and I can’t bare it any longer, it’s like Chinese water torture and I want you to stop playing it because I’ve had enough.’ I was quite taken aback. I mean, don’t fuck about, say what you think, why don’t you?!
After the initial shock I said that this is my job, I have to do it and I can’t help it if someone doesn’t like something I play. ‘Yeah, but you’re here every day. I know you haven’t been here for a month but I’ve had thirteen years of you and I’ve got to breaking point – it’s just like Chinese water torture – it’s the repetition and I’ve had enough so I want you to stop playing that. I’m a musician myself and you’re a good guitarist but I want you to stop playing that.’ ‘Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone come up and be so rude to me. As I said, this is my job, this is what I do.’ ‘Why can’t you go to the Buttercross? Why are you always here?’ ‘Well, I’m here if the Buttercross is taken, but I don’t just play here, I play in Chichester, Reading, Salisbury…’
It made no difference, his rant went on and on. In fact, it started to get attention. Three young women walked past then stopped and one came up and asked me if everything was alright. ‘Yes, this is nothing to do with you.’ I said ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’ll deal with this but thank you.’ She says ‘Are you sure? I mean…’ ‘Look, this is none of your business, OK?’ ‘Well, leave him alone, it’s Christmas.’ ‘I’m OK, thanks.’ She then returns to her friends, he carries on with the Chinese water torture/I can’t bare it anymore/stop playing that compliments and then threatens to get the council involved, at which point I say ‘What, call the council and get them to come up and ask me to stop playing that one song? Look, just go away and let me do my job’ and I start playing something else and he walks off to moan about me to a couple sitting outside The Vine and also Posh Bryan, who’s sitting there, waiting for his cab, because he always gets one mid-afternoon from outside The Vine.
Anyway, after a few minutes this bloke wanders off and after a few more minutes, the couple leave and the bloke donates, saying ‘Great, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, cheers’, which was nice. Then Bryan’s cab turns up. I was wondering if he defended me in any way when this cunt was slagging me off but if he had, mark my words he would have definitely come up and told me. Cheers, Bryan. It was only afterwards when something occurred to me. I suddenly remembered that old couple who also live nearby, who came up and had a go at me about the very same song, or piece rather – the Gnossienne. How weird. Maybe it has a depressing effect on some people. Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. But saying that, I do get a lot of compliments for it – lots of people asking what it is, who is it by. Weird. That arsehole really must have had enough, especially today as it was double the usual volume. Haha! But what a cunt. I mean, if he’s heard me play for thirteen years, he’ll know none of the tunes are very long and most of them are over with, inside of three minutes. Still, I wouldn’t dream of coming up to someone I didn’t know and giving them that shit. I was too nice, strangle enough. I should have just told him to fuck off when he came up. Also, he says he’s a musician. Well, he should be used to repetition. I mean, that’s what it’s all about, for fuck’s sake. I bet he’s a crap musician. Oh well, I know what the first tune will be next time I’m here, played extra loud. Chinese fucking water torture, indeed!