‘So what do you want to do for a living?’ – a particularly problematic question faced by all young adults trying to justify their existence post education. Whether to judgemental family members or local job centres, if you are still to land ‘The Dream Job’, street performance is considered a suicidal change to the career path.
Having studied Fine Art for the last four years, I am far too familiar with the routine ‘Ohh’, raised eyebrows and customary head nods which follow my reply. But this has become instantly more awkward when I throw into the mix that my boyfriend sits on street corners for cash.
Now I know what you’re thinking. And no, he’s (hopefully) fully dressed and playing his guitar for the money and random trinkets he brings home most nights. Yet I may as well announce that he is a common gigolo as suddenly the toilets or a well-timed phone call are the only relief from the conversational hell I plummet myself into on a regular basis.
But – despite secretly enjoying watching people squirm at our unorthodox career aspirations – let me give you a little insight into my life as the Girlfriend of a Busker.
If you’re thinking ‘being serenaded in front of a huge crowd as you pass by’ or ‘his work is so carefree and never stressful’, I would adjust your rose tinted glasses ever so slightly. Despite the obvious perks of him choosing his own hours, earning my entire day’s wages in half the time and taking his ‘desk’ wherever he chooses, there are some overlooked and often hilarious problems most other jobs leave at the office.
Every day is payday; a considerable bonus where you avoid those dire few days of poverty at the end of each month. However, like how no two performances are ever the same, neither are their audience’s generosity. I’ve watched him go from a three-course meal out to eating nothing but a reduced pack of deli ham all day at the drop of a hat.
All he needs is his guitar and he’s good to go. He’s busked in some amazing places and can travel anywhere in a moment’s notice with his guitar on his back. Yet when his strap breaks, it crashes to the ground and you come home to find him smothered in PVA Glue frantically attempting to stick it back together, you understand that no matter the job, it will always follow him home from the office one way or another.
You are dating a town celebrity. I wouldn’t even know which letter best represents the ‘List’ in which street performers fall into, but you will have to get used to the fact that everyone seems to know who he is (albeit as ‘That Guitar Guy’ or ‘The Harlow Bum.’) It’s not so glamorous being a Busking WAG.
Sometimes I wish he was an accountant or a manager of some kind, with a steady income and his weekends always free. But I love that he defines himself outside of being just another suit-wearing-salmon swimming towards Liverpool Street Station wishing it was Friday. And although I’m sceptical that a bank will ever class ‘Busking’ as a worthy profession for a Mortgage, for now, it suits us just fine.
Lauren Jones.