Blowing the whistle...

I have just been sent a clip of Jim and Fred,busking in London, Brick Lane I think, doesn't matter where, Cable St. happen. I think I have broken my toe. Browsing Jim and Fred's Youtube presence did cheer me up, thanks. They would be welcome to a stopover here if ever they fancied chancing to lively up the streets of Rennes. It is a permanent offer so don't worry about the ticket going out of date, someone might find them to pass the message on.
I used to busk in London years ago, When the moon was young and I was just a barefoot lad. In retrospect I amazed that I managed to live at all on the proceeds. It took nearly two years to have enough left over after basic living expenses to put shoes on my size 13 feet. I have done a lot of it since then but I reckon there may not be many places I would want to do it in London Today. In those days it was a great place to practice without upsetting neighbours. I recently visited my son in Hackney, Tried to cover my travelling and eating expenses by playing my Ooblie Dooblie tunes on the street. I had to knock it on the head in short order. I do believe I have improved since 1970, the air quality just made me canary fall off it's perch, "not worth it" thinks I. It took weeks to cough up the blackened phlegmy horror stories. Even smoking never did that to me. It is well I heed the warning. I tried the many pedestrian areas, on every occasion I ended up with jobsworth security men stand in front of my face, one wonders if being tone deaf and culturally blind is a qualification for the job. Some of the Security people, Could barely grunt in English, so reasoning with polite conversation was out of the question. Unfit for service iz my view. Spital fields has a Charter I thought it would give me license. I don't think the Security men can read well enough to understand that by rights I was out of their juristiction. I don't want to stand on their brewery sponsored logo splattered "official" pitches. I rarely touch the stuff . Me dad was an object lesson to me as a child as to what alcohol can do. It isn't good. Enough damage done in my little life without encouraging people to inflict similar undue misery on their families.I would be damned to hell before I condescend to having to beg for a license to play. I am not a Liveried Wait of old.I am not a clubby type nor a pubby as a rule. My little Cube amp hardly lifts my sound over the noise of the traffic, and there comes a point where the amount of decibels required destroys the intended quality of the tunes. At one stage I found an arch under a railway bridge totally covered in low grade graffiti mainly black. Hardly any passers by it wasn't an inviting place to pass though. A street sign in the middle of it had been vandalised, the pole was leaning over and bent. A grim place to play. I wasn't feeling too sunny it seemed to fit my mood, I had already walked miles searching for a decent pitch. I needed to rest a while , I figured that if I closed my eyes I could distract myself from the filth for a while and get into a few wholesome melodies. not Two minutes into my tunes and a security man was in my face. I would rather mek music than be forced to argue the toss with prison guards. I saved my breath for later. My mood was verging on martial. Britons may never never never be slaves (Oh no?) They may ever ever ever be prisoners is my two penn'th. I heard that the local council had sanctioned the daubing of the arch with heavy metal toxic car paint. Truly poisonous shite, as their solution to the graffiti problem.It doesn't speak well of their attitude to the health and safety of kids who still think it is cool to sniff solvents and absorb hazardous pigments In the name of art and liberal tolerance.More security hassles up above by the river , "book months ahead by email, blah de bloody blah blah." No place in London for me Ooblie Dooblie.
Used to be I could play up there.It were right nice. Queen Elizabeth hall area. One clean tunnel walkway from York Rd entrance of Waterloo Station to the Festival Hall. It was one of my favourite busking haunts, between trains roaring overhead. Tidy folk promenading of an evening. Concert goers and what not. Busked up the Ticket to see Stefan Grapelli one time , got out before the applause had died down and busked the money back from the well happy crowd. It was probably his fault that I still doggedly blow my tube at all. I found a pile of old seventyeights in a rubbish box as a kid played them on a borrowed Phillips portable record player. Hot Club de Paris. and Django Reinhardt real inspiration. Jah's music for sure. When the classical orchestras were playing the orchestras regularly threw money from the window of the bar in the intermission. Those were the days when I didn't have to ask sir for permission to express my thanks to god in the open street with the joyful gift of music.
Even when the streets were being cleared in preparation for a police convention , the incoming crowd dressed to the nines tuxedos and wives dripping with fur and jewelery. I had just had a rush and was tidying up my loose change scattered about my patch. Two policemen spotted me and decided to give me the bums rush. I objected. They hadn't heard me playing. They had only just noticed me, so it couldn't have been motivated by their taste in music. I was committing no nuisance. They had to admit .
Both men pulled out their radios and told me to play, after a three minute burst they stopped me and ask their controller,"What do you think sarj?" "Yea he's alright." came the smirking voice in reply. Fair play to all , not just for our team or theirs.
Those days are over for London I guess. Nowadays, breathing in is hard enough with the volume of car exhaust and the many other industrial pollutants, but breathing out with nothing more thana muffled whisper until you get home is too much to bear.
Remember London Smog,"Pea soup" they called the stuff. And remember with a bit of long overdue respect that man Robert Maxwell. He introduced the Clean Air Act to Parliament. It is a sad fact that even though the air is not green and opaque, it is definitely not truly fit to breath. Long term effects ? who knows? Most of the toxins in the air are invisible to the eye. God help the atheletes who were brought up and trained in clean environments, during the Olympics. An unacceptable risk and an unfair handicap.
I'm still blowing my tube at sixty. I confess to loving it. 46 years practice my street music,relegated to a "Strictly Kitchen" genre now. There's an up side, No one hassles me to move on, no one tries to steal my small change.I don't have to mix with obnoxious, near brain dead alcoholics out for a good time. Best of all the air is clean. I might be tootling me Ooblie Dooblie for a few decades more with a favourable wind.
A small blessing, not to be sniffed at. The down side is that I'm usually the only one who hears my racket. I could record, for some strange reason , when I am up for playing flute I rarely connect with the bit of me that is meant to press the record button. there is not much of my music in my sound archive that I would call "my best" and "honest injun " it really does get better by each passing season.

I might have to start breeding canaries if I am going to reach the audience. Birds only sing when they are at peace. It is something I am quite partial to myself. On a good day, happen we could tek turns in my forth coming street side concerts.
I doubt I will ever play flute in London again. Difficult with a double carbon filter gas mask over my face and the threat of violence from ex Red Army economic migrants acting as security. Farewell my darling Albion. Dark times ahead for you.
I hope to see A few Foot tapping Brits in the streets of Rennes someday. Until then Au revoir.