There’s a particular busker who makes frequent appearances on the District Line and sings Seal’s A Kiss From a Rose or David Bowie’s Starman far too loudly. These appear to be the only songs he knows.
Normally I like buskers. Many of them are quite skilled, and they add to the lively feel of the city. Sometimes, if they are very good, I give them money because you get more of what you reward.
But this busker is a very rude, pseudo-intellectual marxist hippy. He enters the train and announces that everyone looks far too miserable. He either doesn’t realise or doesn’t care that he’s the one making people miserable. He sings his loud song and, in the remaining time before the train stops, insults the passengers by explaining why their lives are so meaningless.
I’ve taken to heckling him for entertainment. Once, when he complained about the materialism of the advertising on the tube, I pointed out that I looked at advertising voluntarily but I was forced to listen to him. On another occasion I suggested he stop spouting socialist nonsense and sing a song, much to the mirth of an elderly gentleman sitting next to me. This evening he was being rude to a group of girls and I told him so.
He collects money by patrolling the carriage with a pouch and making sarcastic comments about how miserly people are. I think what really bothers me about him is that people do give him money, and given that he is by no stretch of the imagination entertaining, I can’t figure out why.