Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Buskers

Street “musicians” really piss me off. I encountered several this morning. Basically, they’re beggars with musical instruments. All they want is money. But instead of being honest about it and saying “Can you spare us a couple of pence for mug of tea, guv?”, they maintain this pretence of offering so-called entertainment, as if a syncopated beg were more likely to elicit my sympathy and coin than the conventional variety. Why the fuck should it?

If I were trying to negotiate a loan, for example, would it help my case if I gave the bank manager a sudden rendition from “Oklahoma”? If I wanted to buy a washing machine from John Lewis on extended credit, would I get a better rate if I sang “Ave Maria” while I filled in my bank details?

It's not even as if these people were any good. If they were, they wouldn't be singing on the street; they'd be doing it professionally and getting paid for it. They're therefore imposing their mediocrity upon me, unbidden. It's the equivalent of pissing in my direction or farting at me.

Furthermore, their dress sense is usually non-existent. I saw some specimen “performing” in Tottenham Court Road Tube Station. If he'd tried to donate his clothes to Oxfam or Sue Ryder they would have been thrown out as a health hazard. Furthermore, his “singing” was more akin to the cries of someone being castrated.

In fact, that's the one thing that would have induced me to donate money. If his testicles were being torn off on the Underground, I might have put a few coppers in the tin for the entertainment value derived from the spectacle.

The Working Class should be neutered.

3 comments:

K. McEgan said...

Define working class? Nearly all are on t'dole tha' kows.

Wychingham Bokyll said...

Be glad you don't ride the tube in Madrid. I've experienced journeys in which my seat was actually vibrating due to the din being made by the five accordion-wielding Romanians playing between stations (mind, Romanian women may find that experience arousing).

Montesqusmith said...

One morning recently- I was verbally accosted by a fucking miniature banjo playing(or some such) demanding money in some fragmented and alien accent. He was stood in the middle of the highstreet adjacent to the co-op playing some incomprehensible eastern eurpean drivel (out of key) doubtlessly recounting tales of valor and patriotism long since gone.
I equally had the further misfortune to encounter the same fucker later in the day. He was getting into an 08 reg, state of the art landrover - now talking geordie and smiling (probably due to the huge bag of swag he'd swindled out of sypathetic and unusupecting punters).
True story that.The get.