Of Further Busking Adventures - Part 1

My last essay on here described the unexpected joy I have discovered in busking. That joy has continued although events have conspired to keep me away from it. A couple of weeks ago I had a problem that kept the van off the road for the best part of a week. Currently I have a cold sore. I don't get them very often and I don't know why this one has chosen the present time to appear. It is often stress induced or perhaps when I'm feeling a little under par. Neither is the case at the moment and it's simply a nuisance. The herpes simplex virus type 1 is also sometimes encouraged to put in an appearance after exposure to the sun or the wind and such exposure is definitely a hazard of my way of living. I sometimes get the feeling that other people think I am being a baby to let a cold sore interfere with my plans, but I do have my reasons. Firstly, I know how this works. I've been dealing with sporadic cold sores since childhood. It will have cleared up in a few days and I'll pick up where I left off at that point. In the meantime it is unsightly and I cannot help but be conscious of it in addition to all the other complexion issues I live with. The farmer laughed at me when I answered his question about not going out busking yesterday. Bleeding into my harmonicas is never going to be a good look and having to clean the poison out afterwards is an even less attractive proposition, not to mention how sore it would make my lip. I'm not medically qualified so I've always been cautious not to let the infection spread to another nerve pathway. I don't know if that's a thing that could happen, but that's why I remain cautious. Fortunately P gets where I'm coming from although as the two of us continue to be stuck in different countries any form of intimacy a non-starter.

However, between such events the busking has been an amazing experience. It hasn't filled the coffers by any measure, but it has brought in about £100 over the month of June. Unfortunately nearly £20 of that income has gone straight out again in car-parking fees and I've not always earned the fuel money to get to my chosen town, but it is nice to see a little money in the hat averaging around £10 for a session lasting up to a couple of hours. Of course, if I sang more I'd probably earn more, but I'm trying to listen to my body tell me when enough is enough. I overused my voice in the early 1990s and was actually mute for five months. I do not ever want to go through that again. I have taken some vocal coaching since starting this whole Marshlander project and that has helped. I think my voice is probably in better shape these days than at any time since the great and horrible silence. That was terrifying. I didn't sing for years afterwards and thought I would never sing again. However, I know when enough is enough. Singing outdoors without amplification is hard on the voice, so a couple of hours is usually my limit, even with frequent sips of water. Where possible I try and leave a day between sessions too. I know some singers continue in fine voice well into later life and still manage to tour. The great Arthur Brown is approaching his eightieth birthday and his voice is still in excellent shape. He once told me he sings every day. He used to live in a yurt and he would walk daily into town coaxing his voice to do its incredible thing. I have also spoken to Russell Mael who undertakes a routine that can be very wearing on his voice. He is well into his seventies. Strangely, Sparks, the band he runs with his brother, Ron, is entering into a period of popularity unlike any they have experienced in their fifty year career and it will undoubtedly bring them a lot of live work. His recommendation for voice care is plenty of sleep. I do know this, but sleeping well is a skill I have yet to acquire. That may explain the present episode of herpes labialis or maybe it is just the weather, and being under it!

I have mentioned some of the people I have met through busking. There is a balance to be struck. On the one hand I am there to perform, to sing my songs and to earn what contributions I can with the time I have available. On the other hand, people want to interact. Many have probably been cooped up for several months and may simply be venturing out into the world. On Thursday my new friend from the mobile food wagon wanted to shoot the breeze. A woman emerged from the shop where she works and asked to take my photograph to add to the local Facebook page, at least she was polite enough to ask. A young man came up smiling and put a couple of pounds in my hat and held out a sausage roll he had bought for me from the nearby bakery. Such generosity that has happened on more than one occasion, is the only thing that makes me feel uncomfortable about my exclusively plant-food diet. I don't want to appear ungrateful, so I usually accept proffered gifts with a smile and a thank-you. If I can't give them away to a more deserving person the fish are usually grateful.  

Wisbech is currently fighting off the imposition of a mega incinerator, the proposed structure is one of the largest in Europe, so I have undertaken to go into Wisbech once a week while the weather remains good and carry some information to try and raise awareness. Amazingly many local inhabitants do not know how this monster will affect their lives. I shall also have a separate pot for campaign contributions. I suspect many people have no idea how expensive this campaign is likely to become.

Thanks to Ruth Freeman for this photograph

Returning to another recently visited town brought three interesting encounters in one afternoon. A young man, younger than me anyway, clearly wanted to talk. He stood in front of me while I was singing; he swayed and asked questions. Concentrating on remembering song lyrics and chords while playing three instruments became an increasing challenge so I stopped and he chattered on. He asked if I knew any Pink Floyd songs and preceded to list a few of his favourites. I explained I felt on safer ground singing my own compositions. Then he went on to talk about Queen, clearly another of his favourite bands, David Bowie, The Rolling Stones ... Then he returned to Queen and Freddie Mercury and then Kenny Everett who, according to him was "bent as a bottle of crisps". That is one phrase I'd not heard before, but I wasn't going to let it pass.

"So am I, but it doesn't sound very polite."

He stared at me with a little uncertainty.

"You're gay?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied - more staring.

"You're an actual homosexual?" I guess he wanted to make sure I understood his terms of reference.

"Yes."

"And you're not afraid to say so?"

"Not these days. I wasted a lot of my life worrying about it, but life's too short for such things."

"You like men?" No harm in making sure I suppose!

"I like one man," I said.

"I don't know what I am," he confessed, "I've been with women, but I think I might prefer to be with a man." Mixing the + categories in LGBT+ he confessed, "I think I'm bi-questioning. I don't know how I would know for sure ..."

"You might have to try being with a man and see how you felt about it ..."

"I'm sorry, I'm an alcoholic and I really need to have a drink."

He wandered off. I carried on singing.

About half an hour later he returned. I thought he'd been to one of the nearby pubs. He took up a position right in front of me and swayed slightly more noticeably than previously. Then he reached into his bag and took out a small bottle of something that looked like a white wine although I'd never seen this kind of bottle before. He unscrewed the lid and underneath that was a seal that he peeled off so he could get at the contents. I asked him if he would mind moving back a little in case the contents splashed on to my instruments. 

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry. Sorry. I'm really sorry."

He was contrite and sincere. I felt quite sad. This man was not really in control. He returned to his previous theme.

"I don't know why people say 'backs to the wall' when there's a gay around. You don't want to bum me, do you?"

I confirmed that I didn't and we had more conversation about manifestations of sexual attraction in the human species. I have never imagined busking could be an opportunity for counselling and after a while he retreated into the world of his own thoughts. As I started playing he crept closer again. I think he may have been a contributing factor to the reason there was no one else around to put money in my hat. 

"Would you like me to sing you a song about someone who doesn't really know if he is gay?"

He nodded. I struck up with "Cruiser" This time he joined me in singing. Obviously he did not know the song, but he was like a child who liked to guess the rhymes and at the end of every line he tried out some of his ideas. He was here to stay.

He needed a few reminders to move back a little so that other people could see, hear and approach to drop a coin or two in the hat, but he was definitely there to stay. The afternoon had more to offer.