Busking in the UK

A random blowing my horn in Kensington Gardens

I spent the last month in the UK, and I have to say despite warm beer, foggy days and whining Brits, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

The busking was up and down. The 40,000 police bought into London during the Olympics didn’t help the situation much.

The police in London intimidated me a lot more than usual. I found myself being a lot more conservative than usual. One day I was playing in St James Park near Buckingham Palace. My set was going quite well until I saw two cops nearby. They started walking towards me. I held my nerve and kept playing. They were only 10 metres away from me now, one reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of coins and threw them in my case. Perhaps they’re not so scary after all.

I was more relaxed heading up north. Manchester bought loads of compliments and very little money while Leeds ended with an impromptu jam session with a trumpet player in an apartment 10 floors above me.

Grimsby was the real surprise though. Known for its fisherman, heroine addicts and teenage mothers, I was surprised to find it one of my most lucrative spots in the UK.

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival was incredibly, a little too incredible. With 1,000’s of world class acts, I was way out of my league.

In Glasgow, it rained.

You're Dumped.

If you’ve ever been backpacking you’ll know how much it sucks carrying around a backpack. Add a trombone and it’s almost too much to bear.

Security has never been a priority for me. I trust that people won’t take my stuff. More than that, I trust that people don’t want my stuff. A bag of dirty clothes and a beat up trombone is hardly good bounty.

Over the years I’ve found some great free places to dump my stuff. Open lockers are pretty good; convenient, safe-ish and relatively unsuspicious. Free museums and galleries are great too. Check your bag in, then sneak out. The only problem is you might have the people from the gallery chasing you down the street yelling ‘hey, wait, you forgot your bag’.

My latest theory is ‘if you can’t see it, you can’t steal it’. The idea being that I hide my bags somewhere, usually in a bush, then pick them up later.

Fast forward to the Olympics in London. I decided to take my trombone to the beach volleyball to add to the already upbeat atmosphere. Unfortunately when I reached security I was informed that no bags over 25 litres would be admitted into Olympic venues.

They told me there might be lockers at the nearest tube station. I didn’t believe them. The game was about to start and I wasn’t about to miss it looking for somewhere to dump my trombone.

The venue was just by St James Park and there was security everywhere. I found a bush and stashed my trombone. I tried to look casual as I emerged from the shrubbery covered in dirt, leaves in my hair.

Four hours later I returned to discover that my trombone was gone. In it’s place was this note:

I went to the police station and picked up my trombone without trouble. I think I found a new place to leave my stuff.