I can just about remember the frisson of excitement the first time someone dropped a note (a lowly fiver of course) into my case while I was busking. It felt like I had graduated from being unsure if I was largely a pity case, to definitely providing a performance that was worth something.

That was probably an illusion. While there has largely been a gradual rise in my busking take, and getting the odd £5 or £10 note has become a gratifying extra bit of income rather than a memorable event, the vast majority of what I make from busking still comes in the form of pound coins, followed by £2, 50p and 20p; there has never become a steady flow of banknotes (as my back often reminds me when I pick up my violin case, with the session’s take bagged up for counting inside it, after two hours’ solid playing!).

I do have one vivid memory concerning a £10 note, though I very much doubt it was the first. I was playing in Victoria station, and halfway through the ‘Meditation’ from Thaïs that seems to be Massenet’s only living compositional legacy. An elderly gentleman came up to me brandishing a £10 note. He was clearly concerned that it would blow away, or be lifted by some opportunist, left in the open case. (This is a common concern, and one I share as well as concerned punters and donors; I resolve it by keeping a very sharp eye on donated notes to the end of the number (because in general some inflated sense of musical integrity prevents me interrupting one to deal with money) and then tucking them away in a pocket out of sight, wind and harm’s way.) However, I was unwilling to interrupt the continuous flow of the classical (or rather, Romantic) piece’s emotional melody. The donor resolved this dilemma by carefully tucking the note into my left (fingering hand) jacket sleeve while I continued playing …

The above increasingly blasé attitude to specific donations did not prevent me being pleased and surprised, even shocked, during yesterday’s busking session outside Clapham Junction (with National Rail’s blessing). It was warm and dry and I was essentially serenading the de facto smoking area, besides people arriving and leaving, over Monday rush hour. Several people had time to kill (and perhaps cans of lager to finish, as well as cigarettes, before getting on trains where they could consume neither) and were hanging round and actually paying some attention to the music, which makes a nice change. I was vaguely aware of a bloke wheeling a bike more or less behind me – I had the impression he was on the phone or checking messages or something. Anyway he can’t have been there more than 10 minutes when he completely blindsided me by dropping a £20 note into my case and hurrying off to catch his train. I make a point of thanking everyone who pays me when busking, along with the ‘customer service smile’ approach and catching the eye of as many of the people evidently watching me or enjoying the music as possible (yes, you attempting a couple of jig steps to make your mate laugh, I can see you!), despite the mental gymnastics sometimes involved in doing so without breaking step on playing; on this occasion I am very sure the ‘Thank you!’ came with rather more of a gasp and genuine emphasis than usual, but he responded with no more than the classic English ‘don’t mention it’ wrist wave.

Of course, it’s still an outlier and doesn’t indicate my busking income is about to reliably move up a gear and allow me to drop another way of keeping the rent paid. If I have a point (besides finding something to hang another blog post on and therefore drive my website a little further up the search rankings), it is simply that in busking, or perhaps in music work in general, you never know what will happen next.

To be continued …