Well, I'm sitting in Chesterfield, a gorgeous town a few hours north of the centre of London, home of the Crooked Spire (google it). Let me sum up quickly the activities of the last few days:My first day in London was primarily exploratory. I arrived at Westminster station with my guitar on my back, and was greeted by Big Ben as I walked up the stairs into the sunlight. The experience was somewhat surreal, keeping in mind I haven't been to London since I was a small gremlin child of two or three.
I employed my usual strategy of picking a random direction and walking. I sat down and played in a few parks, including Hyde Park and the Victoria Tower Gardens. I didn't have my amp or microphone with me, so busking wasn't a real possibility with the background noise, but I got a good feel for the place, and scoped out locations that I later re-visited.
Some of the nicest moments were spent lying on patches of green in the sun. That's what I enjoy most about my holidays. It's what I don't expect to see and do, rather than what I plan, that becomes most memorable. I can't wait for the unforeseen that I'll inevitably encounter in each of my destinations. It's exactly why I haven't got a rigid itinerary.
The following day saw me take a trip to Cambridge, which is a beautiful place. I played in a few spots around the place, but kicked myself for having forgotten my camera. I bought myself a Cambridge hoodie, for the purposes of masquerading as a young intellectual in pubs.
For my last day spent in the heart of London I resolved to busk in earnest. I established myself in Covent garden on a street corner. I had been playing a few instrumental bits and getting a few silver and copper coins in my case, when a man in a nice blue suit approached me and told me that I wasn't allowed to be playing in this street, as it was solely for human statues. He told me that I could move five metres to the left and that I would be allowed to play there with no problems. I was very grateful for his help, thanked him kindly, and did so, and had no sooner just got myself re-established (a bit of a mish) than I was approached by an authority from the city of Westminster. He informed me that I wasn't allowed to busk in Covent garden itself without a permit, but that I could play in James Street with no problem, five metres to the right, where I was before. I told the guy about the blue-suited man, and his words were, "Yeah, that guy's a dickhead. He'll threaten you with the police and everything but he's just trying to get you away from his crowd."
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| My first international busking income :) |
A magician rocked up next to me at this point, and started setting up. I saw him shoot some nervous glances over at me, and I decided to defy prior street performer precedents and relinquish my spot. Truth be told, I had exhausted my repertoire of originals that I was comfortable singing. I resolved to work to expand my array of covers, as well as to not be afraid to repeat the set a few times. After all, the audience changes every few minutes.
So, all in all, a successful day.
The success dwindled, however, when the weight of my mic stand and stool caused the straps on my guitar case to snap, meaning a very interesting return trip was to await me.
That night was also the night of my train journey out of London, which was difficult. I have established that stairs are difficult with my equipment. Especially when lifts are out of order. I will have to make a plan.
On the plus-side, a man on the train was curious as to my escapades, and was delighted when I told him of my plans ("Fucking brilliant, mate" were his words, I believe), so much so that he donated £1 to the success of my journey. Aside from this gentleman, the rest of London was supremely unhelpful, and distinctly indifferent.
Tomorrow I venture to York, on a photographic expedition, and the following day I leave the UK and officially commence my tour.
:)
Tim
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