Three things that bring me joy are boating, busking and biking. Today I woke up on my boat and prepared for the day - breakfast, a little daily French and Italian study, responding to messages and making some phone calls. It was bright and very breezy outside the boat. I had not been busking for far too long, so today was going to be the day I’d remind myself of the joy of being a street performer. I’ve been to several concerts and festivals recently and have performed many a guerilla set somewhere, even if sometimes the only spot I can find is by the van on the campsite, but real busking is where it’s at.
I haven’t performed Wisbech for a while, so that was the plan. Just then a hire boat, one of the two day boats, went by heading for the lock. If I have the time I generally cycle up to the lock and see if the crew need any support going through. Because my plans were already in hand I drove to the lock rather than cycled. The extended family out on the river for the day were not complete novices at this boating lark, but they hadn’t been on a narrowboat for several years. They were grateful that I’d taken the trouble to see if they were okay. There was the stiff breeze and the idiosyncratic behaviour of the lock to contend with. The two youngsters in the party were so excited they had to run everywhere, except for the times they remembered how much they needed the sausage rolls set out in the picnic inside their boat. Eventually, with the family safely through the lock, I headed into town.
I parked the van in a long-term car park and loaded my trolley with the gear - Footdrum kit, guitar, harmonicas, neck brace for the harps, my A1 sized notice board (displaying stuff about me, contact details, merch, socials links etc.), drum mat, water bottle, merch box and hat for tips and donations. It’s probably as well I am completely acoustic, I carry enough stuff around without worrying about amplification/mics/stands and suchlike. As I was pushing my trolley towards my intended busking spot I heard someone greet me by name. I turned to see who it was and after a few moments of prosopagnosiac confusion I realised it was my artist friend, Ricki. It’s always lovely to see her and we accompanied each other into the market square where I intended to set up. Ricki was going on to somewhere else.
Wisbech used to have a central car park cum market square. It was recently pedestrianised and on non-market days like today there is plenty of space to choose from. Unless I’m in a street where I can set up in front of a (usually empty and closed down) shop the main difficulty is in deciding which way to face. I have that difficulty here in Wisbech and also in Spalding. Today I opted to have my back against a young tree and facing out into the rest of the square where there is a thoroughfare. That meant I also had my back to people sitting on benches around the square under the shade of some juvenile trees. I don’t like to assume that my music is more important than the conversations they are enjoying with their companions. It’s a juggling act and my feeling is that if they are interested enough they can always come closer, which some did I’m happy to report.
I played for about two hours, which is about the most my voice will allow these days. I’m happy to know that I have enough learned repertoire that I never have to repeat a song during a two-hour busk. I did attempt a first public performance of a new song, "I've Got Love" and I remembered most of it, I'm glad to say. Unusually for me, the song only took about a week to write and knock into playable shape. It is actually taking longer to learn it than it did to write it. Being out in public means there are songs that do not get an airing. Those have to be saved for a roomful of adults only. So, I guess that I could probably manage three hours if it were deemed necessary. One of the joys of busking is that there is always an interaction with people passing by. As my song, “Busker” observes
A nod, a smile, a thumbs up and it’s good to pause and chat …
Chatting is a pleasure. People like to ask about the music, usually about the drum kit. Occasionally, like today, it was about other quite personal or even ordinary matters. I recognised a woman I’d seen at the annual “rock” festival on Sunday. When I say “recognised” it was by her beautiful coloured braided hair extensions. I certainly could not recognise her by her facial features. We talked about hair. The braids looked very tight, but she was very happy with them. Another woman stopped. She was Brazilian, so we had lots to talk about - samba bands, dancing, my daughter-in-law and I’d never met anyone from Santa Catarina before. Apparently it has summer and winter, not just all year round tropical weather. Eventually it was time to pack up and go. Just as I was about to start derigging the gear another couple of women approached. I was to find out they were mother and daughter. That was not a surprise, but being told by the mother that she was ninety and her daughter was seventy certainly was! They both could genuinely have passed themselves off with being fifteen years younger - great genes! “What are you going to play for me?” asked the nonagenarian. I asked what sort of song she would like, since I only sing my own songs and she would not be likely to know any of them. She decided it should be up to me. I took a chance, and said I’ll sing you this song, but you can stop me if you don’t like it. A small shadow of concern briefly showed in her features, like a small cloud passing across the sun. I sang “Fighting For Me”. She listened very intently, nodding and murmuring agreement with some of the lyrics I’d written while occasionally wiping a tear from her eyes. When I’d finished she said, “I remember very well the boys who were so full of bravado, very excited to be going to war, boarding the trains and boasting about what they were going to do. Not one of them came home.”
