Flavours of Herefordshire Festival

I know, I know, doing a half hour (half hour! What can you earn in that time?) spot at a county food festival is hardly the cutting edge of street music, but needs must. October 27 and 28 is Herefordshire's version of a food fest, centered round the cathedral, with street musicians in attendance.
Flavours of Herefordshire comes about ten years after everyone else jumped on the foodie band wagon (they should see what Ludlow does!),  but better late than never.
I'll be racing back from West Wales, sax in hand, for a stint in the Cathedral Garden. (3.00 p.m. don't be late) on the Saturday. And Karlin and I will attempt a duo street act the following day, Sunday, around 1.00. We may bill ourselves as Dubious Morality (which has a certain ring to it). Or not.  

Singing munitioneers

I’m having to take a busking and blogging break to finish off a book on the world’s railroads. And, as a bit of a curious aside, checked out busking on railways. Nice to see these lads doing their best to bring a bit of live music into our lives www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrlrrvaJ3wE

Munitioneers and their male minders: ROF Rotherwas, 1917

When the railway book’s done it’ll be back to the book on Britain’s forgotten muntioneers, the women who built the shells that blew someone else’s sons apart during two world wars.

The work was dangerous (several thousand were killed) but above all, boring. In the First War especially the women alleviated the boredom by singing. And dancing: “When we used to go to the canteen at night all these Lancashire girls, they’d be step dancing on the tables!”

Clun Mill Shropshire

Clun Mill hostel, Shropshire

To the youth hostel at Clun Mill, Shropshire, not for what the grandchildren call a sleepover, but to play for an hour at their summer fete. They did OK: raised £200 – well done Bryony and friends.

As I came to the end of my set, playing by a stand of golden rod covered with bees and hover flies, a pair of red kites flew over. Inspired me to take to the hills and scale the iron-age hill fort after my set.

The view from the summit confirms what I always suspected: this is one of England’s least appreciated, most beautiful counties. (Shame I got lost on the way back and had a 2.5 mile walk along the road with mad car drivers apparently unprepared to share the highway with a pedestrian).   

Sounding off

I signed up to Statford on Avon's Buskers' Charter to play on the streets. Interesting idea: you undertake not to busk with a dog, agree to move on when someone's asked you to go, and promise not to use MAJOR AMPLIFICATION.
Then you'e free to play in the various allocated spots on your Busker's Map.
Didn't work for me, I have to say. I didn't want to cramp the style of Mr Shakespeare doing his Living Statue act. But he wouldn't reply when I whispered: 'Mind if I play down here?'

No, it's Hereford, not Stratford - just thought it looked pretty

So I did a few numbers outside Will's place, but the bag wasn't close enough to the passers-by. Gave up and went to the entrance to the shopping mall: but the shops were mostly empty. So I went for a bracing walk instead where I bumped into one of the buskers, sunning himself on the canal side.
'The Shopping Mall?  I did £75 there yesterday.'
Suffice to say my takings wouldn't have paid for a parking ticket.
Maybe I'm still a bit crap at this busking lark.