The Busker - Martin Brunt??

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/11700953/My-secret-life-as-a-busker.html

My secret life as a busker

Sky Crime Correspondent Martin Brunt takes his first tentative steps to fame, hoping to channel a young Bob Dylan with his limited repertoire on the streets of Dieppe

Not since the Mayflower set sail in 1620 had a ship left British shores with such a giddy sense of potential discovery or disaster. Well, that’s what I was thinking as the Seven Sisters ferry rolled out of Newhaven harbour early on a rain-swept Sunday morning.
I was on a voyage of self-discovery; at 60, about to realise a long-held ambition to go busking, to expose my musical skills for the first time to public scrutiny. I knew it might well end in embarrassment and shame.
Several relatives have earned their living from music. But I have always been the black sheep who had chosen a ''proper’’ career, albeit one that led to becoming Sky News’s crime correspondent.
Yet I did take up the guitar aged 12, and there may be some ageing music lovers in the Fens of East Cambridgeshire who still remember my fumbling bass playing in the teenage band Mr. Mr.
But I doubt it.
My heroes are mostly musicians, though: they too must have once taken the same tentative steps towards their first performance.
And now my time had come. My wife couldn’t quite believe I would carry out my plan, while my kids were encouraging. The few friends I did tell were intrigued - once they had stopped laughing.
So began the adventure. Originally, I planned to arrive in France with no money and survive on my performances alone. I imagined I was as hungry for success as the young Bob Dylan hustling his way from Minnesota to New York City in 1962. (But clearly not quite so much depended on it. I would be back at my office desk at Sky in a week’s time.)

^{Martin Brunt, Crime Correspondent for Sky News - Ben Graville / eyevine}
Standing on Dieppe’s blustery Quai Henri IV could I bring a smile to the grim faces of the locals? Even though my repertoire was mostly blues songs: For You Blue, Brother Can You Spare A Dime and Nobody Knows You When You’re Down And Out (hardly calculated to lift the gloom).
I took a deep breath, put down my hat, strapped on my guitar and kicked off my concert for one, with an upbeat and cheery Daydream Believer. Who was I kidding? Cars, motorbikes, workmen’s drills, boats, rain, seagulls and waves all conspired to drown me out. Without an amplifier, any notes that did break through were blown away on the fierce wind. I struggled valiantly against the elements and the indifference of passers by. At least on my normal ''pitch’’ outside Scotland Yard I usually attract a bit of curiosity.
That first coin was proving elusive. I thought I had a breakthrough when a couple wandered by and let their toddler daughter approach to listen to my version of the Beatles’ Blackbird. At the end of the song, her parents came over and whisked her off with a polite nod of acknowledgement, but nothing else. I gave up after an hour and went for a beer.
Luckily, I was on the move. I had booked a shabby hotel in St Valery en Caux, a small resort an hour along the coast. Hey, I was practically sleeping rough. Unfortunately, however, I had mis-read the winter timetable and the last bus left at 5pm. My cab cost me 85 euros.

My second day was no more successful. I sat around ''practising’’ a couple of James Blunt songs, but in reality I was open for business and dreaming of success. A man glanced at me briefly, shook his head and walked on with his head down. So did everyone else.
Next morning, back in Dieppe, I set up in the much busier Grande Rue. For almost an hour I was ignored, but suddenly an elderly man stopped, hesitated, fished around in his pocket and then tossed some coins into my hat. I nodded a quick “merci” while trying not to lose my rhythm, nor reveal my absolute euphoria. Eventually, I took a break and peered down. One euro and 34 cents. I was a professional musician at last.

^{Martin's earnings for his first day}
The next day I headed to Veules-Les-Roses, setting up in Rue Victor Hugo, beside a vegetable stall. If they didn’t like me, I’d rather be chased off with a courgette than a flick-knife.
But they did appreciate me - to the tune of 6.64 euros. One woman passer-by whispered, conspiratorially, “merci pour la musique” as she added to my takings.
Surpassing everything else was the moment I was approached at the bus stop - my instrument actually in my guitar case - by a man in a van, who offered me a spot the next night in his bar.
I thought of Bob Dylan’s arrival in Greenwich Village when Fred Neil, the MC of the Cafe Wha? offered him his first gig, and changed the world of music forever. Had this Frenchman detected something in me that so many others had missed? Tempting, but I decided to spare him the embarrassment of a rash booking - and heaved my guitar on to the bus home. Fame would have to wait.

Martin **nt has made his money as a busker for Rupert Murdoch and his many cohorts to deceive the UK with the use of MSM in coverage of the Madeline McCann supposed Abduction, Operation Grange remit, as though it was an Abduction in the UK!!!!?
Perhaps he could have taken Aunty Phil with him as a duet as they were prepared to sing from the same sheet with regards to the demise of Mrs Brenda Leylend,RIP "Well her Twitter account secret is not a secret any more eh Martin"!!!?
All of the bent convicted so called journalists involved in the murders in the UK, Phone Hacking,illegal payments to Police officers on the record,Rebekah Brooks, Andy Coulson, Glen mulclaire and the wrags they worked for one Rupert Murdoch, who has Clarence Mitchell as the McCann's mouthpiece!!

For him it was about entertaining all the time.

A man found outside Broadmoor in a Mack with a guitar serenading the patients to a peaceful nights sleep, he got the place mixed up and thought he was outside Sonia's "Oh where is the documentary dear Sonia,dear Sonia"?

A song for Martin

"Singing The Blues"

Well I never felt more like singing the blues
'cause I never thought that I'd ever lose
Your respect dears why do you treat me this way

I've never ever felt like crying all night
I work for Sky News but that dossier weren't right
And since Brenda, I feel like singing the blues

The moon and stars no longer shine
My pension plan it looks just fine
There's nothing left for me to do but write a load of doody doo

Well I never felt more like running away
Paris was good for a couple of days
With a camera crew, I got me singing the blues.....................

"Singing The Blues"        A great song by Guy Mitchell & Tommy Steele. I preferred the GM version but TS did well and got to No. 1.