Do it for Scott

Doing the Friendship Circle for Scott

Camp Super Happy Sunshine Fun was a success! Enjoyed y all or so I’m told by unbiased family and friends.

We were starting to get the hang of things by the time our final performance rolled around.

About an hour before showtime, we were in full setup mode. Camp counsellor Lucas went to grab our props from the stage.

“There’s a man sleeping on the stage” said Lucas.

I walked over to take a look. Yes, there was in fact a man sleeping on the stage, hidden behind a pile of boxes.

To be fair, it was to be expected, performing in the Newtown Neighbourhood Centre and all. It’s a wonder we only found one man sleeping on the stage, although who knows how many others went unseen.

Lucas shook him gently, “hey mate, time to get up… you can’t sleep here”.

He stirred a little, then went back to sleep. He appeared to be incredibly high.

It took the 3 of us a good 20 minutes to get him out the door.

Grace called a bunch of homeless, but none would take Scott in his current state. In the end we left them with the cops. None of us were happy with the situation, but as they say, the show must go on.

“OK” I said to my troops, “who’s ready for Camp Super Happy Sunshine Fun?”

“Lets do it for Scott” said Grace raising her cup of Ribena.

“For Scott” we agreed.

Lights, Camera, Action

Urgently need one of these

Organising the show is going well. When I decided to do this, there’s a chance I didn’t completely think it through. Turns out there’s heaps to do and I have to wear lot of different hats.

I’ve written an extensive to do list; find venue, make costumes, alert the media etc, but there’s something I’d forgot to add.

My good friend and talented actor Grace will be taking on the role of one of the camp counsellors for the show.

She talked to me seriously after our photo shoot the other day.

“I didn’t quite understand the note you gave me back there…” she said

The note… I wasn’t quite sure what note she meant. I don’t think  I’ve given her a note since high school. Of course this was not the kind of note Grace was talking about. Grace was talking about the kind of note a director gives an actor. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, 4 months in and I finally realised I was the director of the show.

Hold your applause.

Camp Super Happy Sunshine Fun

I’ve been working in an office in Sydney for sometime now. Not my usual street corner either; an honest to god office with walls and cubicles and a flickering flurescent light above my head.

I had just decided I need a side project when along came the Sydney Fringe Festival looking for shows. I could totally put on a show.

Here’s the plan: Camp Super Happy Sunshine Fun. – a summer camp for adults.

If there’s one thing I learnt from working at an America summer camp, it’s that playing like a kid is still fun.

After an exhausting looking after children, camp counsellors would retire to the staff lounge.  Did we watch TV, read a book, chat to each other? Sometimes. Other times, someone would yell “dodgeball” or “lets play sardines”, and we’d do that. Long story short, playing like a kid is a lot more fun than playing with kids.

Basically Camp Super Happy Sunshine Fun is going to be awesome and you should come because we’re going to play tunnel ball and make pirate hats.

Financial Review

So how did I go, eh? I'm pleased to report that after 4 months of travelling, I ended up about $500 down (excluding flights).

Overall the money was not as good as I've been accustomed to busking in Australia.

The lack of coins in the US proved somewhat problematic, although I did enjoy not having my bag weighed down with change.

As good as busking around the world is, nothing could top the Olympics for me. I lost my mojo a bit after London, busking less and spending more.

All in all, I give my trip 9/10 for finances, 14/10 for fun.

Trippy Tales

Love.

One of the things I love most about busking is that something funny happens pretty much every time I hit there streets. This busking trip was no exception. Please find a selection of amusing anecdotes below:

• Copenhagen, Denmark 10am: A charming homeless man unfurled his sleeping bag about 2 metres in front of where I was playing, cracked a beer and was ready to enjoy the show. He wasn't good for business so I apologetically asked him to move back, just a bit. He looked at me with puppy dog eyes, dropped his head and dragged his sleeping bag away. I felt terrible.

• Kingston, Canada: A mother walked by with her daughter while I was playing and mouthed to me 'do you take corn?' I nodded enthusiastically. "Go on honey, give the lady some organic corn" she said to the little girl. Mmmmmmmm corn. 

• Gothenburg, Sweden: four Australians came from different parts of the street after I played "I still call Australia home". 

• New York, USA: Befriended a bubble blower in Central Park. Smoked weed out of a petrol hose.

• Bergen, Norway: A lady cried and told me her life story after "I still call Australia home"

• Perugia, Italy: I got taken out to dinner by a lovely Italian gentleman. The language barrier made things difficult. It ended up feeling like a cross between a first date and an English/Italian lesson.

• London, England: A drunken busk outside a bar led to a man dropping coins from his apartment a few floors up.

• Bergen, Norway: A bus driver stops his bus en route, gets off and hands me a 50krone note ($9ish). Passengers are confused.

• Leeds, England: After playing "Oh when the saints", I heard a trumpet play "Oh when the saints". I couldn't see the musician in question, but could tell the sound was coming from the apartment block a little ways down the street. I started playing the saints again. This time the trumpeter joined in and we played together in harmony.

• Edinburgh, Scotland: A woman gave me a bag of change she had collected from all the people in her office who had been listening to my sweet, sweet music.

• Paris, France: I played the wedding march for a bride and groom. They were having their wedding photos taken which I now feature in.

• Hamburg, Germany: Germany won their first match in the euro cup, so I went with my Hamburger friends to celebrate. The streets were packed with people. I found an electricity box to stand on and pulled out my trombone. Before I knew it I had a massive crowd of drunks  looking up at me. I mimed thirst. 10 or so people held out their beers for me. Rockstar moment.

• San Francisco, USA: I didn't realise that there would be a naked convention going on the day I decided to busk in the Castro. About 100 naked people across the road from me were…… were…… well I'm not sure what they were doing. Lets just say I wasn't the only one with a boner that day.

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.

Samsung Global Bloggers

Simon and TC with a crazy lady who probably owns lots of cats

There were about 70 other Samsung Global Bloggers from 20 different countries who were bought to London to blog about the Olympics.

We were split into groups and given video assignments each day. There were some serious social media gurus among the group; from  people with 30,000 Twitter followers (I have 86) to people you couldn’t befriend on Facebook because they had too many (apparently they cut you off at 5,000).

I was fortunate enough to be in ‘the relaxed group’. TC from Malaysia, Simon from Austria and I decided early on that we’d rather spend our time exploring London than editing videos in the hotel.

Unfortunately this meant that our videos weren’t quite of the same quality, and didn’t end up making it to the website. One of them did make the cut and you can watch that little gem here (Daily show no. 7). Don't be surprised if I get an Oscar nod for my performance.

Olympians

Me and teammate James 'the missile' Magnussen

Samsung hooked us SGBs up pretty well. We got fancy new phones, a hotel room in London and a bunch of Olympic tickets. I got to see rowing, tennis, gymnastics, beach volleyball and a bunch of women’s basketball games, but the real highlight was getting an invite to the Australian Olympic Team reception.

We walked the green carpet with the Australian Olympic team past throngs of cheering fans to the reception where Eddie Maguire was waiting to greet us.

The Olympians weren’t hard to spot. They’re all either huge or tiny. I started chatting to a guy who looked quite familiar to me.
“So what sport do you play?” I asked
He peered down at me from 8 foot high, surprised by the question.
“Ummmm basketball”
“Oh right…. Yes of course”

Days later I realised I’d been talking to Aussie basketball captain Matthew Nielson. I reckon he loved it.

One face I did recognise was Australian Women’s Basketball captain Lauren Jackson. After she was announced as flag bearer for the Opening Ceremony, the party really started.

The Voice

John Farnham came out singing ‘The Voice’. I didn’t think it could get any better. Then he sang ACDC. Surely nothing could top that. Then someone asked me if I was competing.

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.

Waaaa waaaa waaa waaaaaaaa

That’s the sound of a sad trombone, and I’m sorry to say that I have a very sad trombone on my hands.

My wonderful parents bought me this trombone very cheaply when I was 12. It’s a 1983 Conn, and never looked like much, but it makes a beautiful sound.

Over the years I’ve come to know my trombone quite well. I learnt quite recently that it doesn’t like flying.

It came off the plane bent and dented with a broken spit valve. Not in a way that only musicians would notice, but in a way that even people who have never seen a trombone in their life notice.

Things got worse when I found a crack in the bell the other day. Thank goodness for duct tape.

It still has a few more flights to go. I hope it makes it.