I’m playing my cello in an occasionally sunny spot in York. When the sun comes out it’s warm and lovely. The rest of the time it’s neither. There’s no room for cars here, but the streets are full of people wandering. A lot of ice cream is being eaten.
Within the crowd, and usually more purposeful in their passage than the obvious tourists, are quite a lot of people rather unconventionally dressed. I’m guessing it’s some kind of medieval pageant somewhere.
No, I was told, when I stopped a couple of them, we’re Vikings. Do you need any pillaging doing?
I think I can do my own pillaging when required, thank you for asking, I said, but today I’m just playing the cello.
I played quite a lot on the streets of York. There was a programmed pop-up concert earlier, outside the West end of the Minster, with a small audience that actually sat down to listen, and applauded. It didn’t seem to interest many passers-by, however; they just passed by.
It’s different here, outside the ice-cream and chips shop. A small girl with very new front teeth stopped, and grinned, and had her picture taken with me. I asked her if she would like to dance to the music, which she did very beautifully. A proud parent filmed. That was nice.
Then Caitlin stopped, having recognised some Bach. She was a pianist, and experimental musician, she said; but it was so hard to make a living from music in a pandemic. We gave each other a bit of encouragement, and I admired her strikingly pink hair.
York is a really nice place. I had a cup of coffee in a nice tea shop where a plate of cakes, and tea for two, could be had for less than the price of a small family’s weekly shop.
