Diary Of A Busker Day 2488 Friday January 31st 2024 Winchester.
Out with the Aria again and the top spot’s free. I’ve momentarily ditched the Cube Street and gone back to the trusty MicroCube, which seems to do the job within the confines of the High Street. A relatively uneventful hour and twenty minutes, which I don’t mind at all. Around halfway in, a man and woman in their 40’s walked by. The woman stopped while the man carried on to The Pentice. She has a very small cross tattooed on the middle of her forehead.
She – ‘You used to be bettah. You used to sing and play bettah.’ Me – ‘Um, I think you might be mistaking me for someone else. I don’t sing.’
At this, she looked a bit confused then walked off to join her companion, waiting outside the bakery, then she turns around, comes back up to me, drops a pound coin in the case and says ‘Good luck.’ ‘Thank you!’ I say.
Fuck knows who she thought I was. Sometimes people mistake me for Don Lavelle – but he’s a fucking painter. Sometimes Dean Dyson; he sings but doesn’t play fingerstyle guitar, which begs the question; is his rudimentary strumming “bettah” than my advanced fingerstyle playing? Or maybe she thought I was Rob Berry, who sings and does all that electric blues stuff – not fingerstyle but very impressive to many people. Maybe that’s who she thought I was. Yeah, I bet it was him. Either that or she’s off her head and doesn’t know what the fuck’s going on.