introducing.... BuskaDude

"Sod the coffee"

Loved these. Respect for you playing the guitar and singing. I can't sing (I try) and I can only play a few chords of the guitar so to do it together is a nightmare!! It's not easy!!

Awesome Neil Keep em coming mate

Nice 1 Chris.. ty

I'm approaching my most creative state awake for over 20hrs & still heaps of today left cousin heading out later , Peace promised, let there be creation
that is unless I fall between now & then Hope I can find something worthy to say

I have no music talent, but I know what I like. I like this!

"I think I can hear blues harp, not sure yet"

Like I say, I have no talent, but I think I can hear the harp too... .. Give it a try.

Keep it up!

Just a quickie to let you's all know I'm still Kicking!! Has been very busy of late & I've been hitting the open-mic's, Jam's & the streets with a fair bit of

Apologies, but still have limited internet access, hope to play a bigger part again here Very soon, hopefully @ least with a review of the Mama's gig.. Sooo cuff'd to have a golden ticket, just hope I can make to Cardiff & back for a morning appointment in time with my braclet intact

& , Neil x

Good to hear from you again, Neil. Glad you got some tickets. I have too for the Royal Oak (US) gig. I'm very happy to get to see her again.
Now, I'm going to have a nice cup of PG tips, some toast and Marmite and call it a day.

Hey Neil!
(yes i'm being a bit away from the forum but im back)

Just wanna say that you sound awesome I really like your guitar.
I do play too, but you are much better than me aha

ty .. I to have been away for too long & promise to do better

For the best part I've been getting over stage fright & playing as many Open-Mic night's in pub's as possible of late.. Busking to make it happen.. Following my & dreaming as much as possible.. Gate-crashing a friends PC where possible to keep up with all thats going on

The futures Bright , the future is Rainbow coloured

Peace & Love x

BuskaDude has been busy of late... With open-Mic's, Jam's & Busking to pay for such things he's finally starting to get used to microphones \m/

Has also posted what is hopefully the 1st of many new vid's to youtube;
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5mQqIh8Pfs

Has also realised that things have changed here & is not sure how to do anymore... Including smilies & Pics

Also, Neil George Quaintance(BuskaDude) has just become a published Author, with a short story in a collection that is now selling under the name "Lessons" by Stories Connect @ Exeter WaterStones stores..
ISBN 978-0-9558326-7-3

I would post the covers, but again thats changed & errr.... I don't know :/

https://www.facebook.com/notes/neil-george-quaintance/inward-bound-freds-story-by-neil-george-quaintance-final-edited-version-ish/337657212998798

I Yesterday had the was chuff'd to play on The Good, The Bad & The Ugly show on Exeters Phonic FM.. Fun Fun Fun Indeed here's how I went out;

http://soundcloud.com/buskadude/the-phonic-sessions-vol-1

buskadude wrote:I Yesterday had the was chuff'd to play on The Good, The Bad & The Ugly show on Exeters Phonic FM.. Fun Fun Fun Indeed here's how I went out..

Good stuff.. enjoyed it all!

Should probably of added by now, as I've been all but missing in action for quite some time.. I've been LandLord-less since the end of Feb, between address's & sofa surfing since then.. I have been employe'd by the people of my local area(mainly Exeter) since then as "BuskaDude", bringing joy to mainly drunk people in the wee small hours of the morning's.. Whilst gaining as much stage time as I can in the local Open-Mic's & Jam nights.. In essence it feels I'm travelling in 1 place, which has the best of both worlds

Busking is my only income & that is mainly going on achieving a confidence in what in my heart I feel I should be doing.. Things are going well & getting better, but it has been a tough year.

Our administerative team here can vouche that I'm of high spirits, although I can vouche that I am no longer dependant on Mary-Jane, on which I have self medicated for the last 20 years.. I have however increased my alcohol intake from 12-20 pints a year, to 12-20 pints per week.. an increase of some 52 times.. LOL

ALL is good here & to quote Timbuk 3.. "things are going Great & they're only getting better B)

I hope ALL here are/have been in similar high spirits & wish you all the best in Peace & Love, Neil x

Inward Bound - Fred's Story by Neil George Quaintance (Final edited version... ish)


A blast of a car horn and a screech of brakes stirred Fred from his sleep; it was nearly noon and he was drowsing to aid his recovery - to help him recall the events of the night before. A driver must have tried to avoid something - an aninimal now laid dead or dying at the side of the road. If so, Fred felt for that soul just as much as if it was human; another innocent life cut short due to man's need for greed and speed. Though he was not religious, he prayed for safe passage, because, increasingly, as he got older, he felt a sense of oneness, a spiritual connection with the World, the Universe and all it contained.



The place where he had lay his head that night and where to he rested it now had been his favorite spot as a youngster - to escape, to find peace. He had needed it badly back then. Since his youth, he had travelled far and wide, but he only really felt at home under the arch. Here, it didn't matter what had been or how battered and bruised he might have seemed. It was here that he felt whole and untroubled. Where he had first seen how things could be.



The arch was part of the old Roman Bridge that had once spanned the river. The river had since been diverted - Fred didn't know why. The remains of the original bridge were now concealed in a green space between roads that now served as the river crossing. Fred's archway had become the perfect hiding place for a trouble soul in need of shelter. He had dragged a huge log there many years ago - something to lie on. Freinds that had helped him then, but he couldn't remember their names.



Yesterday, he had returned to the place of his birth, the first visit in quite some years. He reached for his water bottle, filled his pan, set it to the fire and prepared his mug, milk and two. He let his mind drift back and tried to recall the last twenty-fout hours.



He'd taken his usual patrol pf the local area just before the dawn. He always woke early to avoid a soaking from the dew and went in search of a greasy spoon or kindly baker that would provide breakfast at a 'Fred Friendly' price or, better still, free. Breakfast came by the way of a place where he was remembered. The proprieter welcomed him: 'Fred, you must eat breakfast with us, my friend'. It was a good space to relax. He ate a full fry-up, drank juice and coffee. He chatted for over an hour, whilst the juke-box played an assortment of rock and pop, classic songs. Fred loved it. On leaving the cafe he felt he had to buy something and selected a small bottle of cola, anticipating his thirst and need for sugar later in the day.



He walked until the dew had burnt off, smiking along the way, around the streets where he had spent so many years. Memories of past times and faces reappeared, the loves and the lost. He had stopped to roll a cigarette and admire an urban artwork, as if for the first time, reliving the artist's every stoke and spray. He walked the parimeter of the Roman City wall, before turning into the grounds of his old school; a place that was always at its best when empty of people. He relieved himself in the bushes and it was here that he came to the realisation that he had virtually no recollection of the end of the night before, including setting his camp. He had gotten confused and felt nauseous of what might have been as scenes and emotions flased around his mind. He crouched beneath the headmaster's window, sipped the cola then rolled another, before sparking and heading back to the arch.



Fred had been on the road since leaving school and on his return to the city he was suprised to finf revellers out on a Thursday night and people still up and about when he made his dawn patrol. Exeter used to be a sleepy town in the early hours. Now ther was an incessant buzz about the place now, where once was a steady heartbeat. A feeling of can do, instead of best not.



What time was it? He squinted. Definatly MIdday. Mad Time. He filled his mug and reclined shut-eyed to face the sun.



Last night had been wierd. The music, some familiar, some new. He drank last night, of that he was sure. Not a lot, but it had unleased something. He knew he was bang out of order with the whore, swearing and giving her what for. It wasn't how he would usually act towards anyone? And what was that about a dead man? There was talk of a wake. A wake in a school. Headmaster, teacher, dead man could well be one and the same. What affect would his passing make on the rhythm of the local surrounds? He was sure a great loss, without question.



His head ached. His mouth dry. He went to take a mouthful of tea, discovered the cup empty, put the pan on to re-boil and began another roll. He tried again to recall what had happened.



So... He had arrived shortly before midnight the previous night and made his way into the heart of the town feeling in need of his double cheese and pinapple burger. He had found a burger van near the East Gate. The burgar was good, although not a patch on Greasy Jim's double burger, sausage, egg, bacon and pinapple and melted cheese that would fill you for days and all for 2.30. You were lucky to find a coffee for that these days. After eating he remembered conversations and that the mood was low - he had moved away and on to a club...



Fred, intruiged, filled his mug, sparked again and re-de-focused...



On his way to the burgar van, near the prison, he had witnessed a youth spraying something on a wall. He obviously had talent and Fred had made a note to re-visit the site and hopefully see the finished piece. He loved to see people expressing creatively; it was like seeing life beginning. It was just afterwards, he had his first encounter with the whore. He really shouldn't call her that; it wasn't how he wanted to think of her. Life can be hard enough if you don't fit in and conform, without thoughtless comments from small and narrow minds. She had been saying fairwell to an ageing gentleman as Fred had rounded the corner. He'd almost knocked the pair flying. He had been quick to gather and steady himself and was very polite at the time. She mentioned a club to which she thought he should go and gave him a look that told him it would be worth his while.



So, it was the 'working girl' who led him to the club? Why was he so harsh on her? She was fine. Very, fine. Shame she had black died hair and a shame she walked her walk.



As he rocked forward, put his empty mug to the ground, he felt the air changed and sensed a storm on the way. He poked at the fire and tried to see clearly the image of the face that was taunting him from the night before...



In the club he'd hoped to see her, but expected that she would probably be 'otherwise engaged'. He had a beer and that one had turned to two, maybe three, but he was sure that was all. The club had had an 80's theme - the music, the hair, even the clothes people wore. Track after track transorted him back to his school days, from ZZ Top to U2, Azwad to Timbuk 3, Fred's head swam. It was all bright, very bright. At some point e had headed outside and the cool air hit him. His thought and memories twisted until he had no control - had he left a trail of distruction in his wake? Horrible, so very horrible.



The storm hit. Rain pelted down, gaining ferocity. He was glad to be protected under the arch of the bridge. There was a flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder then, just a suddenly as it began, the rain stopped and the beautiful blue April sky returned. Fred's mind shot to the possibility of an injured soul dying at the side of the road. A squirrel maybe? O a much loved family pet? He picked up his lighter, wishing the furry a safe trip. That was the cause of such a storm; the accidental passing of an innocent born.



What had happened at the club? What had happened at the club? What had caused him to flip so bad?



He remembered stopping for a piss just off one of the back streets, choosing the wheel of a badly parked MG for aim; the car gleamed light blue under the street light. He recalled lost nights when 19 year old Fred would get absolutely slaughtered, then get up without a fuzy memory of the previous night before heading of to his 9-5. But this felt very different.



He had conversed with the young bartender; enough to know his grumpy mood was caused by the sudden death of his old head master. Then he'd teken his beer and toured the premises to know the layout and to guage the other customers. He liked to be aware of his surrounds. Tour complete, he headed back to the bar. He had got the barman to smile by saying something about holding onto the good times. Then headed out to the smoking area with beer number two.



The smoking area had seating, umbrellas and heaters. It had it's own burger bar. Maybe that's what she had meant? He watched people queing for food a while. That was when he spotted Sam. Fred made the assumption that he was a high flying banker type, down from London and doing it large. A cock and probably on coke. He was proved right in almost the next second. As he attempted to pay for his burger with a 50 note, he dropped a bag of powder to the floor. A quick fumble with his shoe-lace and Fred had the bag of powder in his pocket. He retreated back for another cigerette and waited for him to eat his burger. Fred had no use for coke. Turned people to cocks.



Fred approached Sam and introduced himself. Fred knew his name because a crazed girl dressed in cowboy boots and hat had been calling it out, trying to entice him away from the queue and back inside for a dance. Fred took notice of such things. Sam, already intrigued that Fred knew his name, was even more amazed when Fred handed over the coke and then refused to take a line.



He told Fred to wait in the beer garden, then reappeared shortly after with two bottles, they chinked and they drank. Sam's cow girl re-appeared. She was all over him. Fred drifted to times gone by and visits to the club all those years before. He was snapped out of the dream by the shrieks of woman proclaiming that 'this was Lung's song' and they had to dance! They danced on for a few more songs, the three of them, Sam never taking his eyes far from Fred, which confused him as he had thought Sam was with the tart, and definatly staight.



It must have been the he headed for some air. It was then it hit him. Total negativity, evil thoughts, uncontrolable actions. He knew to get out of the club. The door staff gaped at him as if he had two heads; he hurled inults at them before tearing off down the alley into darkness. Somewhere in the shadows, Fred had gone off at the whore, condeming her to hell for what she had become. He was powerless to control the darkness. Blankness more like.



The next thing Fred could remember was waking before dawn, before the dew settled on him, beside a lit fire. Boiling water for tea and rolling smokes for his morning round.



There was no way three beers could have let lose those demons. He thought of the barman and the he thought of Sam in his suit. He should hace seen it coming. Sam's look of adoration for handing the coke back. If only he had said. He was sure he would have enjoyed the experience a lot more if he had known what chemistry was going on. As he toked on the emergency roll, he sent thoughts of apology to the Lady of the Night.



As he dwelt on Life and all the happenings, big and small, he caught site of a raven-haired woman walking close to his arch. Even though she was power-suited, she was all drenched through from the storm. He watched for as long as he dared. She looked familiar. Why did he hide his eyes? Play act with the smoke?



He kicked himself and took another toke. And he had to stop thinking in rhyme and stop that song going around his head. 'I got a crazy teacher who wears dark glasses... Thing's a going great and they're only getting better'. He'd heard those lyric's everywhere since getting to town - in the club, the burger van, the greasy-spoon a couple of times.



Even the kid spraying had it blaring from his pocket? What was that he had sprayed? He Art and Lung? Heart and Lung, a mans face with John Lennon shades? That was the name of the dead guy; that was the name of the Headmaster, the friend, the name of Fred's old English/Drama teacher, renowned for wearing shades all year to the point where many believed him blind. Others thought they where x-ray specks. All seeing, all knowing Lung. He chuckled. Mr Lung had always been patient with him, always encouraged him to dream, to find his own way, someting all other teachers seemed determined to stop him doing. Mr Lung was a good man, a good teacher. He would be missed - that's why the local rythm of things disturbed. A Huge Loss.



When was the wake? Maybe he should go. Maybe Lung's passing had brought him back here to his home town. He re-sparked the dog-end that he had be clutching a while, rested back on his log under his arch, listened to the drone of traffic and watched on.