The Busker

The young man with the guitar busking in one of the underground corridors at Monument tube station really was a bit of a star, with his powerful bluesy voice. A strange pitch to choose, though, on a Saturday afternoon, with a few passers by and without the weekday throng of commuters. There were a small number of coins in his guitar case, enough maybe to buy him a pint of beer or some groceries.

The natural echo in the corridor amplified and rounded out the sound of his singing and the guitar riffs, inducing a pleasurable shiver down the spine. I wanted to give him some money, but I was in my habitual public transport mode - head down, staring straight ahead, closed off, just keep moving, don't connect with anyone whatever you do - and I didn't stop. I walked past him down the passage, then round a corner, his music accompanying my progress. I was halfway up the stairs leading to the exit when I suddenly came to a halt mid-stride. I knew I had to go back.

I retraced my steps. He had stopped playing and was retuning his guitar. There was no-one else around.

I tossed some coins into the case.

"That was terrific," I said.

He looked at me shyly, then at the ground, then back at me and said, "Thank you, thank you very much."

We smiled uncertainly at each other for a second or two, then I went on my way. I felt ridiculously elated at having broken down one of my own barriers.

I want to practise this kind of thing more often. Taking small risks, and bigger ones too.