Today was a day for smiling. I always make a point, when walking along Falmouth high street, to smile at people. I purposefully cultivate a "flat" expression, just so the full effect of my smile affects the people in the street. Naturally, being who I am, I tend to smile more at young ladies, although I try not to be quite that narrow-minded. Young or old, boy or girl, I smile, and feel a lot better about the world when people smile back.
Falmouth has a fairly high "smile-ratio", as I like to think of it. Many towns I have been in do not have such a ratio - Hereford for example has a fairly low smile-ratio - maybe one person in ten might smile back, the majority of reactions being a puzzled expression that I inerpret as "what the hell is this nut-job smiling at?". I think a lot of this is to do with the type of people you might see wandering about - most people in the daytime in Hereford are on their way to or from work, and if the talk in the taverns and ale-houses are anything to go by, probably worrying about their financial state. Also, Hereford seems a little grey, and messy, sometimes.
At any rate, I found myself smiling more than usual as I trundled back along the street, having sung my voice pretty well hoarse in the bright sunshine, outside what-was-once-Woolworths. That makes a particularly good busking spot, since the usual response to closed-down shops around here doesn't appear to be plywood and graffiti, but, rather, pleasant and colourful displays, which make a most excellent backdrop to impromptu gigs. I was surprised to see in unoccupied, by neither fiddler nor RAC recruiter, so I hung onto the spot as long as I was able. I can only hope my occasional one-legged bouncing was mistaken as dancing or musical enthusiasm, and not recognised as desperate bladder control.
I worked my way through the rowdier songs in my repertoire, occasionally adding flavour with one of the a capella slow airs, and generally met with a good response. One of these days I'll have to play to an audience who'll listen to my songs - but will that necessarily improve the feedback...? At any rate, remembering songs was rather difficult, since I've misplaced my book of songs. I even went to the trouble of writing out a list of songs to sing, and then promptly forgot to bring it into town...
As I strummed and sang, I was struck once again by the sheer number of people walking past with iPods clipped to their belts, and ear-phones firmly in their lugholes. I doubt they're listening to the Bothy Band or Paddy Tunney, but I wonder if their ears weren't so full of iTunes, they might appreciate a bit of street music? Surely the portability of music is affecting buskers around the country? I don't know. I used to have a CD walkman, but found that listening to tunes while engaging in everyday activities (such as walking) would usually result in injury. In fact, walking to the bus one day, I fell into a ditch. So I soon gave up on that. I've never owned an MP3 player, or other portable music device. I see their merit, but as with many things, think that their greatest value is probably sharing - if you stick your iPod in your car and let your pals listen to whatever, that's surely better than trudging along mutely ignoring everyone and everything in your path? I think the same is true of other things - food (a good meal is made better if you can include others), clothes (a mild chill is worth it to lend a friend a warm coat) and so on.
I need to learn a few new songs. I've been trying to get the knack of "Johnny of Brady's Lea" and "Roger O'Hehir" recently, but they have suspiciously "modal" tunes that escape me somewhat. The speechmarks are because everything is a mode of something, obviously, but there's something tricky about the notes - they don't fall into place yet.
Musically, i've been hindered somewhat by the breaking strings of death once more. I thought i'd more or less sorted that problem out with the lesser string guages, but I think there was a sticking issue in the nut. As it was, both my D strings broke quite violently just by being fretted one day last week, leaving me to play my mandolin instead, which is tricky. Luckily, Lisa Harrison came to my aid, lending me enough money to buy some strings. Unfortunately, due to the rarity of suitable strings, I was left with the "get some guitar strings and break the ball in them" option, which would have been ok if my mandola had simple hooks. But no. It has fancy little button-shaped nubs. So, carefully unwinding the loops, I managed to get one of the three strings I bought to go on without shattering. Hooray for hardened high-tensile steel, boo to only having 7 strings... To make matters worse, the closest gauge I could find was rather slimmer than the ones I was previously using, so now the intonation is really out on that string. It'll do for busking (and did, today). I wonder how badly a quarter-tone affects my coinpurse at the end of the day.
"Mandolin?" I hear you ask? Yes. I was wandering the fair streets of this seaside town the other day, thinking to myself "Y'know, if there were a cheap mandolin for sale, i'd buy it". So, sure enough, the moment I walked through the door, my eye was caught by a fine-looking mandolin with a label that read "Second Hand - £50" and I was hooked. I asked the gentleman to get it down, had a twang on it, and bought it on the spot. It's not a particularly beautiful thing - in fact, it fits my penchant for objects with a slightly ropey aesthetic quite nicely - but is practical, small, reminiscent of the "army and navy" style mandolins I love, and un-pretentious. I like it, save for one small thing. The fingerboard is even smaller than the Fylde mandolin I once borrowed, making my stumpy fingers very unhappy, and making it difficult to get a clean sound, especially for chords. But I shall persevere.
You might be wondering why I'm still in Falmouth. Well, I keep finding reasons to stay, and, as the notion of "Well, I should probably think about going home..." surface from the dusty recesses of my mind, another old companion appears and gives me reason to linger.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy Wales well enough. The solitude, however, has worn upon me these past months, and I am basking in the light of friendship and whatnot. I will eventually return, but even these last weeks (which, given my erstwhile friends' frantically busy lives, are weeks I have seen but little of my friends) have filled me with a longing to stay here. Even the crap moments (and there were more than a few) are turning into "do you remember when..." stories in my head. I miss this place, even when i'm here. Especially when i'm here, because i'm only visiting, I guess.
My travels have been delayed somewhat by other upcoming events. In October will be the Lowender Peran festival, down in Perranporth. This is another "inter-celtic" festival, with people from Cornwall, Ireland, Scotland, Brittany, the Isle of Man, and others performing. We'll be there as the Falmouth Fish Sea Shanty collective, though I don't doubt some combination involving a mandola will occur at some point. This is happening in October, so i've decided that my long-talked-about trip around Europe will be in reverse to how I'd initially planned. That is to say, something along the lines of : Cornwall, France, Italy, Germany, Denmark, Norway, Scotland, back.
More and more, as my thoughts drift and sway before heavy lids claim me to sleep, I think on the notion of travelling forever. That is to say, being "a freeborn man of the travelling people", as Ewan MaColl once sang (and I sing, on the streets of Britain...), with a pack on my back, a stick in my hand, and a song in my heart. It'd be a hard life, but rewarding in its way I think. Apparently there are two fellows called Ed and Will who have gained some notoriety doing just that - singing for their supper and all. Their harmonies are really quite something. I must get a microphone-recorder like they (and Crazy Dave) use.
I seem to be spending a lot of time with my ex-girlfriends recently. I'm not sure how I feel about this. There are the occasional moment of discomfort for all concerned, naturally, but I think the fact that they were once lovers of mine wraps up in the idea that we get along on some level - so it'd be nice to be really good pals, over and above any regrets and might-have-beens. But, I don't know. People are strange creatures, so I may be confused.
All the same, many thanks to Silje, Vera, Bex, and Faye for putting up with me in their house. Seems like i'm going to be "moving out" at more or less the same time as they all do, which is odd.
Since i've been down here, I've had my ears pierced. I always half-fancied the notion, but wondered. So, feeling flash one day, I wandered into one of the more shady body-modification-emporiums dotted about the place, and had two studs stabbed through my soft bits. It didn't hurt as much as some piercings. I have to confess, I think they look rather dashing, in a roguish sort of way. I also shaved off my beard in a fit of boredom, casting the 6-month cultivation of bristle into the bin and feeling positively peeled for a half-day or so. Despite my best attempts with shears and blade, I missed several patches which went un-noticed for a while, which might have been embarassing had someone not helpfully pointed it out. I have to say, knowing that I can grow a decent beard is a proud feeling, but I feel it's not for me all of the time.
For now, that will do. It's very late. I will edit for spelling and nonsense tomorrow/today.
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