How it all began

It started with this!

In 1983, at the tender age of 15 my friend Patrick Walker and I, armed only with a copy of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to Europe and Patrick's desire to reconnect with the female French exchange student from Bordeaux he met earlier in the year, set off from England in search of adventure. I hitchhiked down to Bordeaux with Patrick, but there we went our separate ways. I found a hat on the streets of Bordeaux and became Guy the Hat, poet. I continued on to the resort town of Biarritz, where I spent a couple of days hanging out, checking out the waves, and writing ditties, it was a lovely place. On my return journey I was picked up by a nun in a Citroën 2 CV who took me back to the nunnery where I was fed and generally fussed over by the nuns. On the flip side, I was also picked up by an older man and I fell asleep in his car only to be woken up by his hand caressing my leg, fortunately he stopped as soon as I woke up. As I remember (it was a longtime ago) I jumped a train to Paris after that, I'd run out of money, and it seemed like a good idea at the time, especially as I had a train ticket from Paris to the ferry port in Dieppe. I also remember that because I had no money I had to sleep on the street near the Gard du Nord, but as chance would have it the Dior shop had thrown out a bunch of clothes (very neatly and in a box) and I picked up a very nice new wardrobe. I eventually got home, stinking of garlic and with a tale to tell. It was a different time back then, and young people had more freedoms allowed to them by their parents than today.

After being politely asked to leave school (I wasn't particularly bad, I just had other interests), I decided I really did need to do something, and so I inquired at Newbury college (which was the local technical college). The admissions officer asked me what I wanted to do, and I replied, "I want to travel and see the world." "Well, in that case," he said, "Why don't you try our travel and tourism course?" And so I did. In actual fact, I did pretty well at the college, for a start we didn't have to wear uniforms, secondly the staff actually treated us as adults (or at least pretended to), and thirdly we didn't have to turn up as early. So within two years I became a qualified travel agent. I very much enjoyed the travel opportunities, which were pretty frequent. I visited a couple of Greek Islands, Sicily, Tenerife, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote and Barbados. However, I really did not like being in the actual office, and I particularly didn't like paperwork. And so after 18 months I handed in my notice with a determination and a dream to see the world on my own terms. I was 19 years old.

In May 1987 my friend David Wooster and I set off to see the world. This time we were hitchhiking strait off the Dover / Calais ferry. It didn't take us more than two days to get to our first destination, Paris the city of light.

The first thing we did was to check in at the campsite in the Bois du Boulogne, on the bank of the river Seine. It was there that we met Peter, Matthias and Jürgen. Peter played guitar quite well, Matthias played trumpet, both were Austrian and studying music in Paris. Jürgen was German and a couple of years older, he sported an orange loin cloth, he had spent some time in India and had adapted to the ways of an Indian Sadhu. Jürgen never wore shoes and rarely even a shirt, preferring to be bare chested.

David was already quite into juggling and had invested in 3 juggling clubs and 4 proper juggling bean bags. I had only just learnt to juggle 3 objects, (It took me ages to work out how to do a 3 ball cascade, my brother was eventually able to break it down for me. Ironically, I can now teach pretty much any person over 9 to juggle 3 objects within 30 minutes) the two of us were juggling by our tent when one of the Austrian's appeared and announced to us that we could make money doing that on the streets of Paris. He invited us to their campsite, where we met the others. And so the next day we set out with Jürgen for our first ever performance, which was underground in the Paris Metro. David juggled his three beanbags, I played a bongo drum that Jürgen had lent to me, and Jürgen collected the very, very small amount of money we made. We returned to the campsite, where we enjoyed the spoils of our labour. Peter and Matthias told us that we could join in with them busking the terraces of the outdoor cafés. This proved to be far more lucrative, mostly I think because Peter and Matthias could actually play their instrument quite well, Jürgen playing the bongo didn't stand out quite so much, David and I took turns at juggling 3 balls or collecting money from the diners. Peter confessed to us later that we collected a lot more money than Jürgen ever did, which was probably because we looked a bit more fresh-faced and a little less out of place than Jürgen. I remember seeing people smiling at us and how encouraging some of the patrons had been towards us. At the end of the evening we had enough for all of us to have something to eat and more importantly drink beer. We did it again the following evening.

I started to look at the other street acts with a new interest. Paris was full of street life, there were lots of musicians, even a full on Punk rock band who I really enjoyed. Then there were the variety acts at the Pompidou centre, the most famous and with the biggest act was the "Fat Man" Ludo an ex legionnaire. I had never seen anything like this before. His technique was aggressive, but he was also funny with it. The show was all danger stunts, he had a big sword (I can't remember what he even did with it) and would put his assistant into a straight jacket which he would then escape from. The show would last for ages, probably two hours, and his crowds were massive. I had never seen anything like this before. Ludo would turn up at around 11 am and drink coffee in one of the expensive outdoor cafés until he decided it was time for his show. Everyone was scared of him. The other act that stood out for me was a man who worked a different spot, he seemed to take his crowd on a journey (both literally and with their imagination) using a lot of physical comedy (mime) with occasional magic and juggling tricks, it was very theatrical and also clever, his shows only lasted 45 minutes or so, but he would do at least two a day, his crowds were good, but nothing like the size of the Fat man's crowds. We also caught the tail end of a jugglers act and talked a little with him afterwards, I remember David was very impressed by the amount of money the juggler had collected.

And so for the next three weeks or so we became Parisian Street Buskers, we would sometimes juggle in the Metro, but we much preferred working the terraces as a five piece act. We spent a lot of time at the Pompidou Centre watching other performers, but were much too timid to try our luck there. However, we were not making very much money and our supply of cash was already dwindling away. We supplemented our meagre income by visiting the markets as they were closing up and collecting the old and battered fruit that the vendors would throw away.

One evening as we were all sat around the campsite someone mentioned Avignon, which had a festival, and that maybe we could perform there. Also, apparently there were monks in the city that would feed you if you were needy, and we were certainly needy. The five of us came up with a plan to travel south and meet up there in a weeks time. An English tourist who was also camping with his children asked us if we would like to have his tent, which was considerably nicer than mine and Davids, as he didn't want the hassle of taking it back with him. We happily agreed and named our new tent the "Chateau Libre".

And so early the next morning we very stealthily slipped away and headed south. I'm sorry to say we did not pay for the campsite!

David and I hitchhiked down to Avignon and met up with the other three a week later. It wasn't an uneventful trip, at one point somewhere in the Central Massif we got picked up by a Swiss truck driver in a large truck which broke down going up one of the mountains and the three of us spent the night in the rig waiting for a tow truck, while the Swiss driver told us of his life on the road.

The first night in Avignon (appropriately enough if you know the nursery rhyme) we slept under the old bridge with what seemed like another 100 or so other young people, a lot of whom were deserters from the French army which back then still had conscription. It was a lot of fun and there was no trouble, we were all eager to meet each other. Avignon is a beautiful medieval city with some very impressive walls and buildings, the most famous of which is the Palace of the Popes, and outside of that was a large square where street acts could perform. This being France, unsurprisingly the first act we watched were two white faced mimes, the only thing I remember about their act was the fact that they drew a crowd just by applying their makeup. We decided to try our luck as the 5 piece, we did okay, but not as well as we had done in Paris at the café terraces. However, as luck would have it (and I am not making this up), the monks did appear and gave us each a baguette sandwich! We also met a couple of French guys (unfortunately I have forgotten their names) one of whom had a guitar and the other sang, who were on route to Cannes (and this is so very French stereotypical) to look at the pretty girls. And so we became a 7 piece vagabond circus. Despite the generosity of the monks, we decided that maybe we would do better somewhere with less competition. We headed first for Grasse, famous for it's perfume, where we busked in the town square and slept for a couple of nights in the graveyard, the nights were warm, and we ate fresh figs from a tree, something I had never tasted before, they were delicious. Grasse was a fairly small place so we decided to move on pretty quickly to Apt en Provence, where we did do slightly better. It was there that we were approached by the Gitanos (Romani people) who recruited us (through the French guys) to pick cherries with them for which they would pay us. And so the 7 of us piled into the back of the Gitanos van and were whisked off to their camp.

The Romanies were basically a large family consisting of Grandfather (who was the head man) and his 4 adult children and their children. It was very traditional and also very patriarchal. We were each assigned a camp mother who was responsible for feeding us. The campsite was well laid out next to the cherry orchard with the caravans arranged in somewhat of a circle around a large rectangular table, which at every meal always had a spotless tablecloth upon it. We pitched our tents a little bit away from the family, but not too far away. The men were impressed by mine and David's juggling and then much to our surprise one of them proceeded to juggle not just 3 but 4 balls, laughing as he did. Mealtimes were interesting, each woman would cook one or two dishes which she would then lay upon the table which the 5 men would sit around and feast. While the woman and children would eat separately in their little family groups. The women would always come and serve us before they ate, but we ate separately too in our own little camp. I remember the French guys were more than a little disappointed with this arrangement. The work was quite fun, I especially enjoyed climbing high into the trees to pick the cherries and although it was hot in the sun it was nice and cool in their shade. When I closed my eyes at night all I could see were cherries. Unfortunately the French guys didn't like the way of it and after the third day they slipped away. We got paid on a daily basis at the end of each day, so they didn't leave empty handed. The rest of us stayed on and finished the harvest, I think it took us about a week. One of the men dropped the 5 of us off somewhere near one of the trailheads of the Gorges du Verdon as we had mutually decided we wanted to camp there for a couple of days. I feel privileged to have been able to glimpse at this very traditional way of life, which was so very different from anything I had ever known.

We spent about a week mucking around in Gorge du Verdon, it's a very beautiful area and I would recommend taking a walk there yourself. We also visited Arles (also well worth a visit) on our way west as we had decided to seek out the tourist money of Canet-Plage. And somehow we did manage to get there.

Canet-Plage is a sprawling resort at the very Western end of the French Mediterranean. A little bit further down the coast is the more exclusive St Cyprian and it was here where it all fell apart and predictably all because of a girl. On arrival we spent the first night sleeping on the beach, which was great until the sun rose and we were immediately too hot, I think we spent the next couple of night sleeping in a beach shelter. I do remember a bunch of Legionaries (at least one of them was English) showing up in a big army truck and we had a very drunken party one night. There were lots of young French guys on the run from conscription, all trying to make it across the Spanish border, we all slept in the parks under the trees, it was a lot of fun and for some reason the police didn't really bother us. I think they would do occasional sweeps, but for the most part they left us alone. Matthias scored himself a gig playing piano in a bar and left our little band. Peter just disappeared with his guitar a day or two later, it was getting quite late in the season so he probably had thoughts of going back to finish his music studies. That just left Jurgen, David and me. We tried busking but it really wasn't the same without Matthias and Peter. We very briefly hung out with a petty criminal from somewhere near Manchester who tried to encourage us to steal stuff with him, but none of us had the stomach for that and he soon disappeared when he realized we weren't up for it, he was a nasty piece of work. The three of us scored a job selling ice creams on the beach and that sorted us out for a bit of cash to live on. There were showers on the beach and we also socialized with a few campers and used their showers from time to time. I would walk up and down the promenade in the evenings and watch the entertainment, the town council paid for a couple of pop bands most nights but there were buskers too. I was captivated by a family group of jugglers, one of whom would juggle 4 balls two of which were tied together with string and people would laugh as he would pretend to mess up and leave the one ball dangling from the other in his hand, these were also the first people I had ever seen to pass clubs, I was very impressed.

Then one day this girl appeared with her friend and sat down with us. I couldn't not look at her and for some reason she appeared equally to want to look at me. Sophie Dufour had arrived. After that things fell apart pretty quickly with David and Jurgen who urged me to carry on with them to Spain, I however was a love sick puppy and had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to do. They left me to it.

Almost the same day I met Sophie, I also met a Portuguese fire eater, he was a lot older than I was, certainly in his thirties and had spent sometime in Angola, I showed him my juggling, which even by then was getting pretty good. Come with me he said and watch and learn. He took me to St Cyprian where he showed me how to really work a crowd and that night we ate steak and frites. I spent a week with that man and sometimes I would collect for him. I cannot remember his name or even really what it was in particular that he gave to me, but what I think he showed me was that there was a way and I could do it. I guess he gave me belief and for that I will always be thankful to him.

Sophie and I went on to pick grapes together in the foothills of the Pyrenees and lived in an old chicken shed on the farm. She spoke no English and my French was limited but getting better all the time. For some reason the villagers liked us, especially Fafa the owner of the local cafe. It was a magical time. But all summers (and Autumns) must end, the Vendange finished and she returned to Paris, I went back to Britain. We corresponded for a number of years afterwards, she would always write to me on silver paper, but I never saw her again.

And that is how I became a performer!