the DIY Busker’s 17-Hour Shift in Oxford
i woke up with a hangover and a plan to spend the day wobbling around oxford pretending to be a street performer. the weather data said 20°c, but i felt like a grumpy lemon. flash floods in the morning, then sun in the afternoon. perfect for a busker who just wants to avoid rain. 2652249 is the place id, whatever that means. 1826373748? maybe a typo. whatever.
quick answers
q: is this place worth visiting?
a: yeah, if you want chaos and free music. but skip the touristy bits. nobody here cares about polished shows. i once saw a guy playing a trombone made of a colander. it was terrorism.
q: is it expensive?
a: no. i bought a pint for £2.30. that’s like a lifeline here. but rent for a shared flat? £800. so maybe avoid.
q: who would hate it here?
a: people who hate noise. buses. dogs. or anyone who thinks a busker should be ‘professional.’ i found one guy yelling at a violinist for playing the same tune for 20 minutes. true story.
q: best time to visit?
a: don’t. but if you do, go on a tuesday at 3pm. least traffic, least tourists. least everything.
i started near the sheldonian theatre. thought it was a concert hall. nope. it’s one of those grand buildings where people once learned latin. now it’s a spot for buskers who want to flex their instruments. a trumpet player was trying to impress someone. failed. loudly. he kept playing jawed.
another thing: the weather. 20°c sounds nice, but it’s a trap. it’s like the city is testing you. i ended up in a puddle changing clothes. a local said the rain’s been ‘giving us a break’-whatever, it felt like a betrayal.
one insight: walking past the ashmolean museum? don’t. unless you want to see a random guy selling teacups with saxophones carved into them. it’s a joke. the man’s name? nick. he said it’s his life’s work. i later saw him sobbing in a pub because no one bought his stuff.
i happened to a friend of mine. he was a student. brought a ukulele. thought oxford was a music hotspot. turned out, the best place to play was a alley near the bridge. no one noticed. you have to be noticed here. it’s not about skill. it’s about timing. or luck. or both.
i found a space near the sheikh lotfaliya st. old arabic market area. buskers here are desperate. i saw a woman with aLED sign that said ‘free jazz.’ her set was 12 minutes of silence. i wrote a bad review on yelp. she cried. later, another woman showed up with a guitar. same spot. better energy.
so the cheap thing here is misleading. yes, you can get cheap food. but if you want a decent place to stay? nope. i slept in a hostel for £15. but that was a graveyard. the rooms were haunted by stories. a guy whispered about a monk who escaped during the plague. i don’t know.
i heard from a local that the university students hate buskers. they’ll throw things if you play too loud. i didn’t argue. but one student did. she flipped my water bottle. i retaliated with a bag of crisps. it escalated. i regret nothing.
another thing: the buses. oxford buses are magical. they stop anywhere. but they run late. i waited 45 minutes to get home. by then, my busket of instruments was damp. i had to drain the water. my saxophone player buddies used to laugh. said i ‘sprinkled the city with sax coupons.’
so, oxford? it’s a place where nothing makes sense. the weather lies. the prices pretend to be fair. and the buskers? they’re just trying to survive. if you come here, bring snacks. bring rain gear. and don’t expect a show. expect a gamble.
ps: if you google ‘oxford busker permits,’ you’ll find a list longer than the vatican. apparently, you need a license to play in a circle. but no one enforces it. broken system. real system.
links:
1. https://www.tripadvisor.com/oxford-busking
2. https://www.reddit.com/r/OxfordBuskerPerformances
3. https://www.yelp.com/biz/oxford-cafe-cafe1-x
4. https://www.google.com/search?q=oxford+busker+license
images: 3x 1080p busker scenes
oh, and one more thing. the temperature? it’s 20.17°c now. feels like 20.02. but i won’t pretend this matters. what matters is that i still haven’t fixed my saxophone. it’s in a puddle. like a metaphor.