Editor's Blog Oct 27th 2011

Editor's Blog Oct 27th 2011

 We have a lot of buskers; even more so in these economically bad times (I prefer to call it BROL – Bankers Ruin Our Lives). It seems anyone with a slight affliction, wart, chipped fingernail or limp. Go without a wash for a few days, don’t shave (including the women) and feel it is ok to literally ask for money.

I have tried asking them instead, and boy does it screw them up. You get an almost incredulous look as if you have plagiarised their patented idea.


 Anyway, there are some that without doubt do it all the time, and do it well, both during the day and at night in the various bars. Wally, for example, an American you see regularly, black guy, grey dreads and an incredible flautist. He plays on various pitches and at night he gigs in bars in fact there are those that go just to see him play.

 There is an invisible man, or two, no doubt really short people inside a box and suit, often down Main Street; I walk past them as if they are not there. There is a plant, a gold bloke, a Charlie Chaplin who is absolutely rubbish, and two summers ago, we had the guy in a business suit with a tie that was wired out posing like he was walking business case forward, he really caused a stir but had limited appeal.

 On top of that, there’s the accordion man who thinks it’s fine to stop at anyone eating in a restaurant, play the same tune 3 times, and walk around with a cup. Restaurant owners take note; I am avoiding restaurants that allow him in. I’m sure I saw him bother two picnickers in John Mac Square last week.

 Finally, the best two for some time now; one has been sat daily at the end of the tunnel between the Lord Nelson and the Latino’s. He sits on a box with a small cd player next to him giving out some ditty. He sits holding a keyboard guitar in his hands and playfully taps it, pretending he’s knocking out the tune. You can tell this as the guy has no rhythm, and the fingers are way out in comparison to the notes. It gets worse. Last night he was wailing along with it, must cost him more in batteries than he makes unless… no you wouldn’t give him money for that would you? Last of all is the Landport Tunnel. For months, a skinny black guy is stood there with his hand out, not even pretending to play. Then after a few days, he had a glass in his hand. Every morning I pass him, sometimes he shouts good morning but it makes no odds, I’ve served in London, the tube station exits are full of such nonsense. Yesterday after passing the keyboard guitar, I heard a mouth organ that unmistakeable noise. There he was in all his glory, sitting down leaning against the tunnel, glass in front and a mouthorgan being swiped like a card reader across his mouth. No tune, no rearrangement of notes, no talent, just swiped along his lips. Music to someone’s ears, I suppose.

Ed.