The coming-out incident

This was a few weeks ago now. I was packing up in St. Andrews at around four o'clock, and two men come up to me. They were clearly inebriated, and one had a pair of black facepaint glasses on - the other, a facepaint moustache. They spoke in a mock-Cockney accent:

"Mate of ours - it's his birthday, likes - and we will pay you a tenner, right now, if you come to the Vic and sing a song for him - just one song."

So I find myself in the Victoria cafe/bar with a tenner already in my pocket and more strange characters, all with lace doilies on their heads (their answer to my enquiry - "We're Jewish." Right). They introduce to me their friend Benjamin, who I take to be the birthday boy. They hand him a birthday present. It's a bible, signed inside: "To Benjamin, All the best - Jesus H. Christ."

The two men I met in the street introduce me to the others. They are delighted: they say "We knew you were bringing presents - we didn't know you were bringing a person!"

I sit and say: "So what do you want me to play?"

"Whatever you want."

I explain that I know quite a lot of songs, and we eventually settle on a KT Tunstall - Black Horse and the Cherry Tree. They demand more when I finish, at which point Man with Facepaint Glasses slips me another tenner under the table. So I play Kumbaya at their request and it goes on for a long time due to the one guy who knows all eleven-or-so verses.

Then they say: "Benjamin's gay, so play something suitably... gay." I guess the chords and words to I Want to Break Free."

After this I say: "How about we sing Happy Birthday or something?"

Despite being quite drunk, it is clear that Benjamin feels a little awkward.

Man with Facepaint Moustache chimes in at this point: "Actually, we weren't quite telling the truth. This is actually a coming-out party. He's the last one! We always knew, though - it was pretty obvious." he says to an abashed Benjamin.

I say, "OK... well I'm sure we can still play a song for the occasion... or just change the lyrics of Happy Birthday..."

In the end the song goes:

"Happy out-day to you,
Happy out-day to you,
Happy out-day dear Benjamin,
Happy out-day to you."

My coming-out party gig ends with a bible reading. I have no idea why they wanted me to read three verses of Genesis; doubt I'll ever know.

My total takings for the day were: £71 and a bunch of daffodils, then £20 for playing at a coming-out party.

penny for the homeless busker...?

...so the drummer from my band, Andy, and I are talking in the Students' Union, and he mentions a text conversation with his friend from St. Andrews that transpired something like this:

Andy: "Hey - this is the myspace address for the girl I play drums for: www.myspace.com/sarahcoloso."

Andy's mate: "Hey, I've seen her! She busks in St. Andrews."

Andy: "Aye, she's good, isn't she?"

Andy's mate: "...I thought she was homeless."

Andy: "LOL no. What made you think that?"


Andy's mate: "...I thought all buskers were homeless."



That's beggars, mate.

"You're Beautiful" as performed by Big Issue seller

You're beautiful,
You're beautiful,
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face, in a crowded place,
But it's time to face the truth;
I'm selling Big Issues.

I LOVE JAPAN (or China, or Korea, or something)

The most insane thing happened today.

Now, I get a lot of foreign currencies thrown in the gig bag - most common are Euros and US Dollars, but occasionally I get coins from New Zealand, Australia, Argentina, Czech Republic - not too long ago got a couple of Italian Lira thrown in, which was weird when you consider how long they've had the Euro. Whatever currency it is, it tends not to amount to much, and gets stashed in a collection as there's not much point in going all the way to the bank simply to get those 7 Argentinian pesos converted into the £1.50 they're worth. However, this time was a little different.

So, today was not a good day, at least for the first hour or so. First time busking in over two weeks: my fingers hurt, my voice simply wasn't up to scratch and there was a wasp flying incessantly round my head. Then this happened:

A youngish Japanese man in a suit came up to me. I say Japanese as he looked like Hiro from Heroes, but he might have been Chinese, or Korean. He says - in broken English - "I really really like your singing," presses a note into my hand - red and white, never seen the likes of it - and vanishes back into the crowd (or into another time zone, if you'd prefer to think that this man was actually Hiro).

I think: Well, fair enough - he's probably given me a hundred Yen, or something. Another one for the currency box...

I unfold the note, and it's a fifty.

Fifty pounds.

Sterling.

I love Japan.

Gloves

So I'm just about to get in the shower, when I notice I have a glove on.

You might wonder how I managed to get the rest my clothes off without noticing the glove - but in this case it is a glove not of the clothing but of the tan variety.

Ah, you say, but shouldn't you have two tan gloves, unless you've been wearing some odd one-sleeved garment?

Quite. As it turns out, the top I had been wearing had no sleeves at all. And, standing busking in the Dundee sunshine for three hours, I had acquired a deep tan - on one side. And, looking closer, I realise that the same, though thankfully a little more subtle, has happened on my face.

It looks stupid.

Really really stupid.

Almost as stupid as my sunburned feet.

Two pointers.

So it's getting rather late - best to keep this short and sweet.


Two pointers for buskers:

1. Don't busk under a lamppost. You WILL get pooped on.

2. Don't busk under a tree. You'll get spiders falling on your head.

AND you'll get pooped on.



Goodnight.

An ice-breaker for buskers.

"Hi. I'm [insert name here].

"I work on the street."



Guaranteed to start an interesting conversation, or at least kill the one you were already having.