Day 2702
Friday June 12th 2026
Winchester
Back to the small town…and someone else who’s back is that kid on the keyboard from a few years back. In fact, he’s been back for a few weeks now but I hadn’t seen him for around five years. He must be around seventeen now. And he’s got a slightly different sign – SAVING UP FOR MUSIC COLLEGE. Before, it was SAVING FOR MUSIC LESSONS. And lurking a few feet away, next to one of the pillars at the end of The Pentice, is his straw-hatted father, who must be eighty now. And next to the father, his oriental mother who must be forty-five. Just down from them is Big Issue Jessica, who I have a conversation with. I say I think it’s all a bit dodgy. I mean, the kid never looks like he’s having a good time, never smiles and never has a break.
Jessica says the father is on to the kid if he ever stops playing for more than a few seconds. And he plays stuff you wouldn’t think would appeal to someone that age – stuff from the American Songbook from the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s. I mean, Fly Me To The Moon, come on. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong but it’s all a bit odd. And Jessica, who’s been at her spot since 10 o’clock, says that if anyone comes up to chat with the kid, the father’s there straight away, shooing them off. Some sort of child labour thing, I reckon. When I first came across them, years ago, I had a chat with the father and I didn’t like him. Just a gut feeling. Something about him.
Anyway, I’m down at Nando’s and as I’m setting up, Rob and his two carers stop. Rob is doing his usual – clicking his fingers and grunting, poor chap. I say hello and how nice it is to see him again – ‘I’ll just be a minute or so then I’ll start up, Rob, OK?’ More clicking and grunting. I set up as fast as I can but it’s not fast enough – Rob’s off! His carers shrug their shoulders and smile. ‘Alright Rob, maybe next time, nice to see you again.’
Posh Sarah comes by and hands me a fiver – ‘Well, I never give you anything! You know where we are – at a different place.’
‘On Wednesdays for your meetings? Yeah, you’re up at the library.’ Which prompts me to tell her about the two diary books I’ve managed to retrieve after almost one year. I submitted them in the hope the library might stock them in the local history section but it’s not as easy as that, is it? Because they’ve got to be sent somewhere else – to some council jury, and they have to give the approval, etc. Well, I never heard from anyone so I went in around eight months ago – no one knew where they were but someone would get in contact with me…but of course no one did, so I went in again…and again…and again, and I’ve finally got them back. No message, no ‘Sorry Mr. Naylor but we’ve considered your books for inclusion but have decided not to go with it…’ Nothing, which has really cheesed me off. Sarah says ‘Well, my son’s written a book and no one wants to know, and you get all this rubbish being published. Have you heard of P.G. Wells?’ – the bookshop near the cathedral. I said that’s where the books were stocked. They sold a handful then contacted me to come and collect the rest that I dropped off. This was just after the publicity in the Hampshire Chronicle.
I then told her about the gig tomorrow – ‘I’m playing at the Avington Park Valley Day.’ ‘Oh, I was never a ballerina’ says Sarah.
‘Sorry?’
‘You said ballet?’
‘Oh no – VALLEY, VALLEY Day! It’s a family thing, outdoors and all that stuff.’ Ballet, her hearing’s worse than mine!
‘Anyway, it’s the only gig I’ve got this year.’
‘Well, you can play at my funeral, you played at my husband’s. I mean, we’re all going to die! A few minutes before I go, I’ll say to someone “You must get Marvin to play at my funeral!” How’s that?’
‘OK, you’re on, Sarah!’
One of the homeless women comes up, a bit out of it – ‘Are you here on Wednesday?’
‘I don’t know, it depends on the weather.’
‘Cause I want to give you some money – I love your singing.’
‘Singing?’
‘Yeah, you know.’
‘Well, I don’t sing, I play the guitar.’
‘Yeah? Whatever it is you do, I love it but I won’t have any money till Wednesday. You gonna be here?’
‘Yeah, well it depends on the weather.’
‘Well, it’s gonna be a heat wave tomorrow.’
‘Is it? I read it’s going to be around 20, 21 degrees, which is fine.’
‘Yeah? Well, it’s gonna be really hot tomorrow…a heat wave.’
‘Right, OK, well we’ll see.’
‘Yeah…see ya!’ and she’s off.
‘See you…thanks!’
The obligatory two hours grossed me £30.87. (grossed? “Gross me out” was what we’d say in Canada when we were little!)